The Wonderful World of Demena
by Mell23
Summary: A series of unrelated Demena/Lovez fics written off one-word prompts. Changed last names so it's legal. Submit prompts on my tumblr page demenafanfic
1. Gum

**A/N: This is a multi-chapter story based on one-word prompts I've received on tumblr. If you want to submit any prompts please visit my tumblr page. The more prompts I get, the more I write and submit. I hope you enjoy. **

**Tumblr: demi-selenalove **

**Gum**

"That's my last piece of gum you bitch!" I yelled as I chased after her.

"Too bad. Slowpoke."

"Thief"

"Excuse me, I borrowed!"

"Oh really? And when are you planning to give it back?"

"In about seven years, when I've digested and expelled the thing. How's that sound?"

"You're gross"

"Well thank you darlin'"

She always does this, and I always cave. I mean, can you blame me? It's always entertaining when we argue back and forth like this. I kind of like it most times, and it's not like she's complaining.

"You need to learn the concept of sharing"

"Sharing? Nah, I'm an only child, no need for any of that" she gives me the biggest grin in the world and then opens the pack of excel gum.

"Hmm, winterfresh, sounds...fresh. Excel-erate youurrrr breath!" She actually sang it. What a loser.

"You're such a loser"

"Yeah, a loser with the last piece of gum. Now who's the loser?"

"Why don't you let me show you how to share? We'll split the gum half and half okay?"

She put her hand on her hip and stuck out her bottom lip. It was her thinking face.

"Hmmm. Nope" she grinned, and then popped the piece of gum in her mouth and chewed it right in my face.

"Choke and die" I said as I stuck my tongue out at her.

She looked shocked and was about to speak but her face contorted into pain and she started making choking sounds while pointing at her throat. Shit. Did I actually make her choke? I stepped towards her and started frantically banging on her back to get the gum out. Fuck. It isn't working. I don't know how to do the other one!

I went behind her to try and dislodge the stupid piece of gum when I lost my footing and fell on my ass with Selena on top of me.

"Shit" I swore while Selena burst out laughing.

"God you should see your face right now, priceless. Oh jeez, I can't believe you fell for that. You're so gullible"

"When did you become such a good actress?" I asked.

She shrugged and whispered in my ear "practice". She pulled away and winked at me as she continued to pop her gum annoyingly.

"Ugh get off me!" I squirmed and tried to push her off but she grabbed hold of my arms and pinned them above my head.

"Nuh-uh, not yet. Still want half of my gum?" She asked as she dangled the gum from her teeth a few centimeters above me mouth.

"Ewwww no! God get away" I squealed as I attempted to move my face to the left or right, away from the gum.

"You sure? It tastes damn good" she smirks, then freezes as she stares into my eyes. Her eyes flicker to my lips and I use that moment to my advantage as I knee her in her crotch and free my hands only to flip us over.

Her mouth opened in shock during the exchange and she started laughing hysterically.

"Well Dem, looks like you finally got the gum" what the hell is she talking about?

"What...?" And then I let go of her hands and bring them up to my hair and I can feel the sticky gum stuck near my roots.

"Ugh. Do you honestly think this is funny? Because its not! Do you even realize how long it's guna take for me to get this out?! Even if I can get it out completely. Damnit Sel"

"Come on, you can't blame me, you made it drop out of my mouth" I glared at her as she sat up and wrapped her arms around my waste.

"I'll get it out for you" she says and smiles.

Then she proceeds to take a picture of me with it in my hair, which results in a 10 minute game of tag.

By the time she got it all out of my hair we decided to make it a sleepover, it was far too late for her to go home anyways.

"I had fun today" she whispered as she snuggled in closer to me. "I missed this"

"Yeah me too" I answered as I shifted closer to her, our noses practically touching. And I wanted to kiss her. Like I desperately just wanted to lean in and have her lips touch mine.

"Hey Sel?" I whispered.

"Me too" she said. My eyebrows knotted and she giggled as she leaned in and pressed her lips against mine.

She pulled away and brushed her thumb against my blushing cheek.

"Wow" I said and went to kiss her again. But she pulled back and giggled.

"Keep in mind, this happened because of my selfishness and absolute need for that gum. And anyway, you look pretty with gum in your hair" she says as she runs her fingers through my hair.

I slap her hand away and pull her in for another kiss.


	2. Bike

**A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Bike**

Maybe I should call, I thought, as I walked in the parking lot towards my car. It's been enough time, and I've been missing her an awful lot ever since we broke up. I'm not sure if I miss our relationship, or our friendship. I sigh as I struggle to find my keys in my over-packed purse. A phone call will be all right, she'll pick up, we'll go out for dinner, no, lunch, and we'll catch up. That's it. It'll be nice. She won't say no, she can't, we decided to be friends when we broke up. It's just as friends.

Voicemail. Of course. "Hey Dem, it's uh, it's Sel. I was just calling to see if you wanted to go for lunch or coffee or something. Umm, if you can then let me know? Oh, um, tomorrow? Yeah, umm call me, or text me or don't or whatever. Okay, bye"

She texts me, asks if I want to go for a quick coffee thing instead. I say yes.

It's awkward, us just sitting here across from each other, avoiding eye contact, not saying anything. It's the first time we've really been together alone since our breakup, no other distractions. She looks really tired, and it makes me wonder how she's been holding up. She's looked at her watch about 6 times since she sat down, and I'm starting to regret ever calling her at all.

"I um, sorry Sel, I have to go" She says as she gets up to walk out of the coffee shop. I swear under my breath, _shit_, and follow her out of the shop.

"Remember when you taught me to ride a bike?" I yell at her from across the parking lot. She stops looking through her purse for her keys and looks up at me. I jog to where she is and grab hold of her hands.

"We were 9, remember? And you gave me shit for not knowing how to ride a bike, and you laughed at me until I ran home crying. We didn't talk for a week; I was so upset. That was a hell of a lot of time for us not to talk back then. Then you came over one day with your bike, you put training wheels on them. You rang on my doorbell and just stood there, rocking back and forth on your feet. I remember going to answer the door, and you had your tongue sticking out of the side of your mouth. You looked hopeful. I didn't get it back then, you know? How much I loved you, I mean. So you took me by the hand and you helped me onto the back and you held on until I could go by myself…"

"I remember…" She whispers as she smiles a little bit.

"You were my best friend in the entire world, and when you hurt me, you made sure to fix it. It was my fault this time, and I'm guna fix it Dem, I promise. I'm not letting you go without a fight because riding that bike was the first time I felt like I could do anything, as long as I had you by my side. And I'm not letting you go this time"

She smiles and pulls me in for a hug. "Thanks" She whispers and I hug her back.


	3. The Lion King

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**The Lion King**

"You told our child she could have a lion for her birthday?" I yelled. This is just like Demi, she makes promises that she can't keep.

She shrugs, "Yeah, she said since Mommy was in The Lion King, then she should have a lion. She wants to be just like Mommy, isn't that adorable?"

"Too? What? Demi, you weren't in Lion King"

"Yeah, but she doesn't know that. It's really not a big deal. Lion's are cute"

"Are you dumb? I'm not buying a Lion, and I'm definitely not taking care of it. It's going to eat our daughter!"

"You're overreacting, calm down. Loads of people have lions!" She exclaims. I raise my eyebrow at her.

"Come on Sel, please?" She begs for a good five minutes before she shuts up.

"Is the lion for you or our daughter? Because it sure sounds like you want it for yourself"

"Yeah, well, I mean, I'll be playing with it and taking care of it and stuff. You won't even know it's there! I promise!"

"Really? I won't know it's there? What happens when this thing gets bigger? Then what? Have you even researched how hard it's going to be to have a pet _lion? _A _lion_ Demi"

"Well, no, but I'm sure it will be cool! Come on, she'll love it!"

"The answer's still no" I say and try to walk out of the room.

"Come on Selena, don't be a Debby downer." She says.

"Are you kidding me? See, this is why I'm always seen as the cop in this house! She always comes to you because she knows she'll get her way! And then I always have to clean up the mess."

"Well, I mean, can you blame me? She's like a mini you; I can't help but give her whatever she asks for. And I mean, you like cleaning up my messes right?" She smiles sweetly and leans in to kiss me but I pull back.

"No way. You fix this, because I am not dealing with a lion in my house" I say as I walk away.

Turns out, my instructions should have been a little clearer. I should've known Demi would have found a way around it. Instead of a lion, she bought a dog for our house. And on top of that, she bought a lion cub at the zoo that we have unlimited access to. They go almost every week. She took a picture of her holding the Lion like Rafiki and got it blown up. It's now sitting in our living room for everyone to see. She's also managed to convince herself and those around her that she played a small role in The Lion King. She was 2 when it came out. I don't even know why I married her. I never thought I'd say this, but fuck Disney and fuck The Lion King.


	4. Music

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Music**

"We can't be friends anymore" I said with a completely serious face. She turned to look at me. "What? Why?" I just gave her a dirty look and started to walk away. She jogged after me and grabbed my hand.

"Dem?"

"Look, I don't know how to say this… but you have the shittiest taste in music, and I just can't do this anymore." I went to walk away again but she choked out a laugh.

"Are you serious? I told you I would let you educate me! It's your fault for not holding up your end of the bargain!"

"Oh it's my fault is it? Well maybe you should've had a good taste in music in the first place and we wouldn't have this problem!"

"Well for your information, I like my kind of music. Maybe you have a shit taste in music." She exclaimed.

I gave her a look, like _really?_ We've been over this about a million times. I always come over and 'educate' her and all she ends up doing is listening to the same crap she listened to before. I mean, honestly, mainstream music is so overrated. There are some really good underground bands and musicians out there if she would just dig a little deeper. And it's not like I haven't explained this to her, I have, it just never seems to sink in!

"Really? I have great taste in music. Plus, the stuff I listen to has actual meaning. It's like poetry… not like the crap you listen to" I stuttered over that one. I was going to give an example of some shitty lyrics from the music she likes, but couldn't think of any. Oh yeah! "Do you ever feel like a plastic bag? Really Sel? Come on! First of all, that is a TOTAL rip off of American Beauty, which you still haven't watched by the way, and secondly, it's completely shit. No, I never feel like a plastic bag drifting through the wind. Who the hell writes this shit?" I actually worked myself up there for a minute, and took some time to collect myself.

"Yeah, I get it alright? Shit taste in music. So educate me for God's sake. I need your help puh-lease show me your awesome taste in music you rockstar" She said.

"You know, flattery never gets you anywhere," I said with a smirk.

"Oh really? Well it'll get me into your room and through your music, let's start there" She winked and skipped back to the room. Her ass looked cute from that angle. Who am I kidding? Flattery will get you everywhere.

"You coming?" She called from my bedroom.

"Hells to the yeah!" Wow I'm too excited for this.

"So who are you educating me on today Miss Demetria?"

I smiled "Wolftron".


	5. Fight

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove. This is one of my favourites. **

**Fight**

We've been fighting for a few months now, and I really don't know how much more I can take. It was difficult with her being on tour and being in a long distance relationship. It didn't help that her team thought she needed a fake relationship in order to drag some of the attention away from our "friendship". It's sort of like she doesn't want me around anymore anyways. So I've stopped trying. Does that make me a bad girlfriend?

The worse part is that our friendship is going down the drain along with our relationship. I just don't know how to fix this. It's not like I can talk to many people about this anyways, and the people I usually talk to are sick of my depressing shit. I don't blame them.

#

She's coming home tomorrow; we haven't talked in a week. I haven't been returning her calls. I know that makes me a bad friend and a bad girlfriend, but I can't help myself. All we do is fight. I really don't want to spiral into a deeper depression just over one damn phone call with her. She's becoming unbearable, and I really don't know how to deal with that all on my own.

#

I've avoided a meeting with her for a week, but this time she was giving me no choice. She's at my house, sitting on my couch. She looks like shit. She says she misses me. I don't say anything, and that's when she snaps.

"I don't know what your problem is Selena. I've been trying to get a hold of you forever now, and you just ignore me! God, I don't need this shit. You were supposed to be there for me."

"Well I'm sorry that I was a little bit upset over your new damn relationship plastered everywhere I go"

"What? Sel, we agreed that it would be good for us. You pushed me to agree to it."

"Yeah, because I thought it would be good for us. But look at us now. Do we look good to you? Every time we talk, we fight, and I'm sick of this shit"

"And you think this is my fault? If you had a specific problem then you should've told me. You can't expect me to read your mind."

"Yeah, well you should've." I know I was being unreasonable, but I didn't want to give up that easily. Something was wrong, and everything that came out of her mouth made me want to hit her.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not one of your stupid boyfriends, and you can't expect me to be pulling all the weight in this relationship. I can't believe you think my life revolves around you. I'm not going to sit around and think about you 24/7 and maul over what you meant when you said something and what I should do to fix it. You know better than that. If you have a problem then come talk to me, don't give me crap for something I didn't know about and don't blame our relationship issues on me, since they're clearly not my fault" She yelled. That's when I snapped. I shoved her hard and she stumbled and fell to the ground. She looked shocked, hell I'm shocked. She got up.

"Oh, are we resorting to physical violence now? Have you had enough of me telling you everything you don't want to hear? The truth, Sel, I'm telling you the truth"

I went to hit her again but she grabbed my arm and pushed me against the wall, hard.

"Don't" she spit out through clenched teeth. "If you want to fight, we'll do it properly then" That's when she grabbed my wrist and dragged me to her car.

She drove to her house and brought me down to the basement where she proceeded to give me a pair of her boxing gloves. She put on her own pair and said, "Go on then, hit me"

I looked down at the gloves on my hands, looked up at her face, and swung.

We fought for 20 minutes before getting tired. As I came down from my frenzy I looked at her and sank to the ground beside her. Her nose was flooding red from the blood pouring out, and she had a black eye. I tore my gloves off, what have I done?

She looked up at me and smiled as I brought my hand up to her cheek.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I don't know what made me lose control like that…"

She laughed "Well I'm not" I gave her a confused look but she leaned forward and pecked me on the lips. Ow, what the hell. I brought my hand up to my lip and felt blood. Great.

"Good," I said, "Now we're even and I don't have to feel bad about messing up your face."

She chuckled "I think we both needed that"

"Aggressive make-up sex?" I suggested. She looked at me like I had gone insane.

"I think we've had enough aggressiveness for now don't you think? How about nice sweet I-haven't-seen-you-in-4-months make-up sex?"

I grinned and nodded "Let's get you cleaned up first."


	6. Lipstick

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**  


**Lipstick**

"What the hell is that?" I ask. She gives me a confused look and continues to apply her dark red lipstick.

"Uh, no. You can't wear that. I'm wearing a light color. You can't go so drastic. People might notice" I say.

She looks at me like I've gone crazy "what the hell are you talking about Dems?" She asks.

I grab the lipstick from her fingers and she whines. "You are honestly the worst lesbian in the entire world," I say.

"Oh really?" She questions, "that's not what you were saying last night" she winks.

"Haha, you're so funny. No, if we kiss tonight your lipstick will smudge onto my lips and it's going to be painfully obvious what we were doing dummy" I state. "I didn't think that's how you wanted to come out. On national television at an awards show" I smirk, thinking I'm going to get my way.

She shoots me an amused look, "well maybe we just won't kiss tonight" she says triumphantly.

I give her a shocked look "you can't be serious"

"Totally serious" she replies "this is payback for your 'bad lesbian' comment". And with that she grabs the lipstick from my fingers and walks out of the bathroom.

The only thing that comes to my mind is "devious bitch" as I follow her out and towards the car. I mean, what if I want to have my way with her in the bathroom tonight? We've been away from each other for a couple weeks and all I want to do is kiss her, like, all the time. She's totally ruining this for me, I grumble as I step out of our "entrance vehicle" (lame) and plaster on a fake smile. I glance at Selena, who totally loves this by the way, and my lip curls up in annoyance. Damnit.

We've been sitting next to each other all night and I'm finding it hard to not touch her. She keeps a smile on her face, but I can tell she's getting annoyed with me and my constant need to be touching her. I mean, what did she expect? I sound like a sex-crazed woman (psh which I'm totally not). Maybe I just want to kiss her and hug her and touch her because her skin feels so good against mine. Not even good. I have no idea what word I could possibly use to describe what I feel. And there must be a word somewhere, in some language, to describe the utter need I have to be close to her. Because it is a need.

She turns to look at me and I smile at her. Our eyes are lock and I feel us gravitating towards each other. Honestly, I'm just moving forward, as close to her lips as I can possibly can. And I can't say that the world around us is disintegrating and I forget where we are. Because I don't. I know very well that we're in public. That we're on camera. That people are watching us. But at that point, I don't seem to care.

I'm just caught up in smiling at the beautiful girl in front of me, my beautiful girl, and her dark red lips. Her inviting dark red lips. She leans in and I swear she's going to kiss me. But then she moves past my lips and to my ear. "Save it for later". She pulls back and winks, and I realize the show is back on.

The rest of the night I got lost in my own mind and didn't pay attention to anything going on. And I was glad that I didn't have to do anything tonight. I could sit back and relax, and that's what I did.

Selena pulls me out of my thoughts with a light touch on my arm and we get up to go home. No after party's, I just want to go to bed and feel her beside me.

When we reach home and close the door she leans into me and kisses my lips. I smile.

"As much as I hated not kissing you tonight, you really know how to tempt me. And damn, can I just say that you looked irresistible wearing that lipstick"


	7. Guitar

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Guitar**

I look at the pieces in front of me and frown. I can't believe it's broken. And I know it isn't something that should make headline news, but I want her to know. I want her to know that the very last thing from our relationship has finally fallen apart. But I don't want to call her and tell her. Because she doesn't want to talk to me. Can I blame her though? I don't think so. It still hurts like hell, especially now that I'm healthy and safe. And even though I know it isn't the end of the world, it still hits home. We're over, done. It's been months. Have I only just realized this?

But I mean, how damn cliché is this? "You don't realize what you have until it's gone". I knew what I had. I was just too stupid to do anything about it. I had more important things to do, or so I thought. So maybe the saying is true, and our relationship is just some big cliché. Is that so bad? Maybe not, but what now? Do I go to her house with a bouquet of flowers and beg her to take me back? Do I save her from some evil stalker paparazzi and she'll jump into my arms and we'll run away together?

It's not like I'm fresh out of ideas, I'm not. And it's not like I don't have the money, I do. I just don't think that's enough for her. I don't doubt her feelings for me, I just don't think she can handle any more of my baggage. No, she's done enough. I have to let her be happy because clearly I was making her miserable.

I look down at the guitar again. It really was beautiful. It still sort of is. The design on the body is still somewhat visible. I run my fingers lightly over the guitar. The feel of the wood almost splinters my fingers where the body was split like a jagged uneven lightning bolt. I spell out her name on the remaining smooth piece of wood "S-e-l-e-n-a".

This could never be fixed. I don't expect it to be. It's my turn to do the fixing, but I just don't have the resources anymore.

I pull out my phone, snap a picture, and tweet it with a sad face emoticon ":(". Not that the emoticon even remotely describes the turmoil I'm feeling right now.

If it had been any other guitar I would have been sad, but it could be replaced. This is irreplaceable. She can't be replaced. What was I thinking?

I get a call a few days later.

"So it finally broke." It wasn't a question. She didn't even say hello or stick with any formalities when she called. She was cold and to the point. I repress the urge to answer sarcastically, that would only make things worse.

I simply say "yeah".

She sighs "is that all you have to say?"

I think for a few seconds. Am I supposed to grovel? Am I supposed to be just as cold to her as she is to me? I've been waiting for this, this is my chance.

I stutter. "Um, I. Look, Sel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to break. For us..." I clear my throat, "to break. I don't know how to fix this" I whisper the last part.

She remains quiet.

I sigh.

"I can't be giving you these answers anymore Demi. It's something you're going to have to figure out for yourself. I'm sorry"

She went to hang up. I rushed out "No! Don't apologize. It's my fault. Come over." I sound forceful, and I don't want to push her farther away. "Can you please just come over? I really want to work this out. If only for your friendship. I know I messed up, but I'm willing to fight. And think of it this way, that guitar breaking was a symbol of our past mistakes, they're done and over with. Let's start new" I'm almost pleading.

She's silent again. "Okay. I'll be there in an hour"

I sigh with relief, I didn't expect her to cave that easily, though I'm grateful she did. "Thank you thank you thank you. Sel, I'm guna make it up to you, I promise. Oh god, thank you. I don't know how to thank you enough, honestly.."

She cuts off my rambling with a soft "I missed you"

My lips twitch upwards, almost like a painful smile. It hurts hearing her like that. It hurts even more knowing I'm the one that's caused her to sound like that. "Me too" I whisper.

"See you soon"

That's when she hangs up. I smile down at my phone, feeling hopeful for the first time in a while. I look down at the mess of a guitar in front of me. A symbol of our past. I touch the strings and let a wave of nostalgia wash over. I shake my head and get up.

Maybe we can burn it. I smirk.


	8. Curves

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Curves**

I don't understand why people call her fat. I think she looks beautiful. She looks better than she did when she was "skinny". She was thin and sick, and now she's full and healthy. I don't know what's wrong with that. I don't know why society is so focused on how thin somebody is, when they're in the business to make music. Why criticize someone on their weight?

And then they spew some bullshit out about how they care about people's illnesses (like eating disorders). I don't understand how someone can be so hurtful to someone who has been through so much.

It hurts me to see her like that, because I know how beautiful she is, inside and out. Her curves make her who she is, and that's what I love about her.

I try and call as much as I can, but sometimes our schedules don't work out. I always try to check up on her, no matter how creepy that sounds. It's great looking at the new pictures people post about her, because she looks happy. It's not about what she's wearing or how she looks, it's the smile she has on her face. That's what really matters.

I was going to see her tonight, hopefully, at some awards show. I'm excited to be able to be in her presence again, no matter how far we've grown apart. She's always been a source of comfort to me, no matter how much shit we had going on in our life.

#

She looks beautiful. I don't even think I can put into words how amazing she looks. I'm stunned into silence as she smiles at me and walks over. I think my lips turn up in a smile, but I can't be sure. She's right in front of me. She's hugging me. I just sort of stand there in a daze. Then she giggles, squeezes my hips and whispers in my ear "Snap out of it".

I grin and let a laugh flow freely through my mouth and wrap my arms around her neck. We do a little dance, swaying back and forth a few times, holding on to each other. I almost don't want to pull back, because she feels so good against me and she smells so good. I've missed this.

But she pulls away and I'm forced to break my clasped fingers apart. I step back to look at her, without breaking contact. My hands run down her shoulders and rest just above her elbows, cupping her arms. Her hands are still resting on my hips and she jerks me forward a bit as if to pull me into another hug, but I hold myself in place, I just want to look at her.

My words bubble out of my mouth before I can even process my thoughts "You look good". But I shake my head, no, that's not it at all. That's not what I meant, at all. I must've looked funny, because she laughed. "So do you." She says with an earnest smile.

"No, I meant to say that you look beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

She breaks out into a huge smile after I say that, and I give myself a pat on the back for making her feel good. "Thanks. So do you."

I'm content in just looking at her, but then to my displeasure my boyfriend pops up behind us, and the spell is broken. I frown, but neither of them seems to notice. I'm being shooed off and I turn to look at her, but she's already talking to someone else.

I've never been someone to let something like this affect me, but she's _different._ I'm in my own world all night. I'm actually in a Demi filled world. I try to pick her out of the audience, but can't seem to find her. I scold myself for not asking her where she was sitting, or what she was doing after, or anything during our short conversation. Not even a conversation, really. And it's not like we hate each other, we've just grown apart. That's the worst part, and sometimes it's like she's doing better without me. That's what scares me, because I'm not okay without her. And I'm sort of jealous that she's okay without me.

The night went by faster than I thought it would, and thank God I managed to pull away from everyone and come home. I really need some time alone right now, even though sulking isn't the answer to my problems, now or ever.

I should just take control and call her. I miss her, and I'm sure she misses me; I can do this. Just call her. No, I can't. No, she's probably out with her friends and I'm here alone like a loser. I sigh and lie down in my bed in just my boxers.

I think about Demi. She looked great tonight. I'm glad I got to finally see her in the flesh instead of stalking her on the Internet. She really looks perfect. She looks healthy.

Her dress was almost skin-tight, and I felt like running my hands along all the curves on her body. But that wouldn't be acceptable. I let my mind wander anyways.

My eyes trailed down the slope of her body in my daydream. Her curves are what made her perfect, and I can see that now more than anything.

My phone ringing interrupts my thoughts and I groan. Perfect timing asshole.

I look at the caller id and immediately choke back my words.

I smile and pause before I pick up. "Demi"


	9. Pussy

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**  


**Pussy**

She came home with a cat. Without my permission. I'm allergic to cats. She knows this. I can't tell if she's doing this on purpose, or just because she forgot. But what does that say about our relationship if she can forget important things this easily? And what does it say about our relationship if she can make major decisions like this without consulting me?

Am I being a drama queen? Hell yes, but I think I have the right this time. It just raises a million doubts in my mind that really shouldn't be there. And I know that I shouldn't let things like this bother me, but I can't help it.

The ones you love the most usually hurt you the most. I didn't think I would ever be using that saying in my life, but that was quite naïve of me.

I've been giving her the silent treatment all day, and she deserves it. My allergies have really picked up and I'm sneezing every 5 minutes or so. She's going to die for this. I told her she was sleeping on the couch, without breaking my vow of silence. She looked upset, but I think she deserved it. I lock myself in my studio and go over the music I've been attempting to write.

I get lost for a few hours and let out some of my unnecessary anger. Nothing really came out of it though, because I know I could never finish writing or start recording any of this. I knew these feelings would pass. That's why I think I should have spent my time letting out my anger any other way. Maybe I should've used the punching bag we have downstairs to let out some of this pent up anger.

One in the morning. Great. I'm tired. But I'm not sure I want to step out of the room and see Selena sleeping on the couch. That would kill me, regardless of what she's done. Maybe I do love her.

I sigh and step outside the room. There's crinkling under my feet and I pull out a few sheets of paper from under me. It's a package that's held together by a paper-clip on the middle. I thumb through the pages quickly to see what's in the package. There's a small note on the front, an article, medical pages, and an envelope with my name on it.

_Dem,_

_First, I'm sorry. I really am. I wasn't thinking, you know how I am. But that isn't an excuse. I have my reasons, and I just wanted to make you happy. Read through the pages in order, and open the envelope last. If you're still mad in the morning, I'll give you some space. I'm sorry again._

_Love, Selena_

I sigh when I read the note. I can't help but give in to her slowly. She knows she has a hold on me, but the note doesn't feel manipulative. She's genuinely upset; I know she is.

I slide down the wall in front of my studio. I hold the papers between my fingers delicately and attempt to smooth out some of the wrinkles left from stepping on the pages. I pull the note and paperclip off the rest of the pages and set them on the floor to my right.

I skimmed the article. It outlined a few different ways to help with allergies to cats. The next page was a reminder for an appointment with an Allergist. Selena set up appointments for me to get regular shots and take antihistamines. Did she really think this was a solution? At least she's trying, I thought.

I reach the envelope and opened it, pulling out the contents. There are a few photos of the kitten Selena brought home and I smiled.

There was a picture of Selena with the cat with the biggest smile on her face. It made me melt.

There was also another note from Selena inside.

_I'm sure you don't remember this, because you're so angry at me right now. But when we were 8, a girl from your school brought a kitten in for show and tell. You ranted and raved about that little kitten for a whole month, you wanted one so bad. Your mom wouldn't let you though, because you were allergic. I remember you coming over to my house in tears, and I promised myself I would buy you the cutest kitten in the world one day. Then I guess you forgot about wanting a kitten, because your parents brought home a dog a few days after. I never forgot though, because I wanted to make you happy, and I thought this would make you happy. It wasn't just me not thinking, I just didn't think you would take it so badly. There's another picture taped to the refrigerator, I thought you would be hungry. I'm sorry again, and I really hope you can forgive me now that you understand where I'm coming from._

_Selena_

I lose myself for a few seconds thinking back on the memory Selena was talking about. I close my eyes and sigh. Why did I doubt her in the first place? She's clearly thought things through.

I set the papers and pictures on my right with the rest of the things and get up to walk to the fridge. There's another note on the fridge and I roll my eyes a little bit. There's also a picture taped to the back. I look at the picture first and feel myself start to tear up. It was a picture of our little kitten on the side of the road, dirty and thin.

I unfold the note.

I hope you don't still hate me. If anything, it was a fun little treasure hunt right?

I smile.

_Give the poor thing a chance sweetheart, I promise she doesn't bite, or scratch. And if it doesn't work out, we'll find her another home, I promise. Now come to bed._

P.S. If we have to find her another home, you'll always have my pussy to play with.

I laugh at that and make my way to the bedroom. I can never stay mad at her anyways. And our pussycat is cute.


	10. Beach

**A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Beach**

My hands sift through the sand on either side of me as I sit on the semi-deserted beach. The night is getting darker, and the weather is balmy. I can see the stars tonight, but only because I'm not in the city. The stars have no competition tonight. Soon they'll be falling down to rescue me.

The sand feels so good falling between the cracks of my fingers, where your fingers should be, but aren't.

This isn't our beach, but it reminds me of us nonetheless. It may as well be our beach.

I remember the first time we moved out to L.A and came to the beach together. The wavy water, the white-hot sand, and the sounds of laughter mesmerized us.

Now the silent beach, cold sand, and soothing water is all that remains, and it's almost hard to imagine a time when it wasn't this way. Is the silence and tranquility really that bad? No, perhaps not. But it means I don't have you, your laughter, your loud, obnoxious personality, and your white-hot anger.

I think about the time we went to the beach, it must've been a few years ago now, when you sang me that song, and I cried. I vowed never to hurt you then, I guess I'm not as good at keeping promises as I thought.

I wonder how long it will take you to notice that I'm gone, though I know I don't deserve even that from you.

Jealousy took over my mind, and I tried to break you down with my words. It wasn't supposed to be me; it wasn't supposed to be us. We were supposed to be stronger. But I brought us down.

I guess I'm the one that's left behind choking on sand. And you're okay, or I assume you are.

Maybe my words made _you_ stronger, and tore us down. I'm still trying to figure out if that's good for you or not.

I wish you'd come visit, I told you about this place once. Is it too much for me to ask? Maybe. I can't help myself, though. You're all I ever wanted.

You finally summon up the courage to come, and you find me on the beach, a month later. This has become a nightly ritual for me. You say you talked to my mom, and she told you where I'd be. I feel bad, that you're the one chasing after me again, and yet I'm the one that made the mistake.

But you smile and take my hand, I shiver, and everything is all right again. You lift me onto my feet and direct me toward the water. We walk like lovers along the edge of the ocean, lightly dipping our feet in. You keep a slow pace. I don't want this night to end either.

You ask if we can run away together, but I sadly shake my head. Circumstances won't allow that now, maybe before, but not now.

I don't want to be the one to break you down again, so I don't say another word. My mouth is dry and I can almost understand what you meant when you sang about choking on sand. That's what it feels like for me, and it only heightens the guilt I feel.

You brush your thumb over and over along my hand and my nerves ease, and then tighten, with every new wave that crashes against our feet. The waves are quite literally attacking me, they are no longer tranquil.

The beach no longer offers me peace; it's filled with pain and memories and sorrow, and you, always you.

You're the worst and best part of me, and the waves crashing against my feet feel just like the waves of guilt eating away at my insides. But you smile at me again, and maybe we can fix this, because you're here, when really, I should have gone there for you. But you're here, and I'm here, on the beach, and the smell of the salty water is relaxing. The feel of your hand in mine is calming, and I don't feel like I'm choking on sand so much anymore when you lean up and brush your lips against mine.


	11. Topshop

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Topshop**

I grabbed her hand and ran through the mall away from the screaming children. Did they really have to ruin the one day I had with her? Sometimes I just want to go out and spend some quality time with my girlfriend without people fawning over her. It makes me want to barf sometimes thinking about all the people that touch her, when I'm so far away that I can't.

It's not even distance, we're just never together in public anymore, they get to touch her and hug her and I don't.

We can't get caught so I quickly turn into a store, grab a few items, and jump into one of the dressing rooms. I was pulling her by the hand the entire time and she fumbled over her feet and crashed into my back when I came to an abrupt stop.

We must have looked crazy to the people around us a few seconds ago. But I hoped that we were moving so fast that nobody noticed who we were. The only problem was getting out of here without being noticed. I sighed.

She regained her balance, let go out of my arm, and let out a loud laugh. I quickly pressed my palm against her mouth hard to get her to shut up. She gave me the most adorable "angry" face and licked my palm.

"Gross" I said "Do you have any idea where my hands have been?" I wiped my palm against my jeans.

"Really? You're the one that put your hand against my mouth," She said as she fixed her hair in the mirror. I rolled my eyes.

"So, how are we going to get out of here without being caught?" I asked looking at her from the bench I plopped onto. She shrugged. I looked around the dressing room, I picked one of the smaller ones, when I really shouldn't have, because the look on Demi's face right now does not scream innocent.

"No" I said, and repeated about 3 more times. "No way in hell. Not in here. We could get caught so easily. We're not even supposed to be friends."

She sauntered over to me seductively and sat on my lap, with her legs on either side of the bench. I was stuck in between her legs, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't extremely turned on at that point.

She leaned into my neck and rubbed her nose against it a few times. I moaned, clearly I couldn't control myself, and she giggled as she began to place kisses on my neck. My pulse must have skyrocketed at that point because I felt light headed and I closed my eyes in surrender. I wouldn't have gotten my way anyways, and it's been far too long.

She pulled away, only to bring her hot breath to my ear. She stayed silent for a few seconds, and her breathing caused me to blush. We both waited for the other to say something, the heat between us was becoming unbearable and I was tempted to just put my hand down her panties. She stopped me though, before I could even move my hand, talk about sixth sense, and whispered in my ear, "Tell me if you want to stop" as she brought her hand in between my legs.

I felt like screaming, 'are you fucking crazy?' at her, but I thought that might bring too much attention, so I grabbed her by the hair and brought her lips to mine. I don't think she expected that, because she whimpered, and for a second I had control. But then I lost it when she put pressure on my jean-covered center.

I don't think I've ever been so angry myself than at that moment, because I was wearing skin-tight skinny jeans, and I mean skin tight, and she was wearing a skirt. A fucking skirt, and I was wearing skinny jeans. Fucking skinny jeans.

I cursed my earlier decision to wear them; I thought we would attract less attention if I looked more normal. Demi obviously thought otherwise, and of course she was getting the good end of the deal.

I grunted disapprovingly as she climbed off of me and licked her lips. She unbuttoned my skin-tight jeans and began to slowly pull them off my legs. I lifted up off the bench to help her pull them off. I smiled, fuck yeah, I'm totally getting laid in a random changing room. I've always fantasized about this.

After she pulled off my jeans I'd worked myself up so much that I didn't even realize she was going for my shirt as well until it hit the dressing room floor. I looked at her in confusion until she kissed me, and I kissed back, not suspecting a thing. Her hands left my face as she was searching for something on the hook to my right and I turned my head and opened my eyes to see what she was doing. She quickly grabbed my face though and pressed our lips almost painfully hard together.

It seemed as if she successfully pulled whatever she wanted off the hook because she looped her hands around my waist and pulled me into a standing position. She pulled her lips away from mine and started trailing kisses down the rest of my body until she got to my knees. One of her hands had found its way to my center and was rubbing lightly through my panties. I squinted my eyes shut and held onto the hook above my head. God, it's been so long.

I felt her lift one of my legs and was a little bit confused, but she rubbed faster and I got lost again. I felt material being lifted up to my centre and opened my eyes, only to have Demi's lips against mine again as a way to silence me. I moaned anyways.

She brought her lips to my ear, "Don't open your eyes. We're just playing a little dress up game." Ooh, kinky, I thought and continued to go along with it. Why? Because I was getting more action now than I have been in months and I've needed this. She placed my arms through the armholes and put the hood on my head. I think I was wearing a onesie, but I couldn't be sure. She began buttoning up the front with both hands, and that's when I realized she moved her hand.

I groaned and opened my eyes, "What the hell? You can't just start me up and shut me down before you've finished!" I said dramatically. Then I looked at the mischievous look in her eyes and I groaned. "What now?" Before I could even comprehend what was happening, she pushed me out of the dressing room into the packed hallway, full of people waiting to get changed.

Within seconds, the people started screaming my name, and pointing at me. Like barbarians, if you ask me. The cameras started going off and my face turned beat red with embarrassment, almost reaching the colour of the very fashionable ladybug onesie I was currently wearing. People started mobbing me and I tried to look back into the dressing room to find Demi, but the door was left open with nobody inside.

I looked towards the entrance and saw Demi with a smirk on her face; she winked directly at me, and then walked out of the store.

This is what I get for dating someone like Demi. I groaned, fighting my way to the crowd towards my empty dressing room, where my clothes had mysteriously disappeared. Great, just great. I smacked my hand against my forehead and dragged it down against my face, morphing my features; I let out another groan. Then I realized people were still taking pictures, and most likely videos, and I didn't even want to see what those pictures of me look like online later on tonight. So I grabbed my bag from my dressing room and with whatever dignity I had left, I walked to the front of the store and bought the damn onesie. Damn Topshop. Damn Demi. Damn everything.

I am never going to live this down, I thought, as I walked through the parking lot to my car, surrounded my paparazzi.


	12. Call

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Call**

I look at the phone ringing in my hand, and recognize the number immediately. I scramble to reach my phone on the desk beside me, but I don't pick up. This is it, I think. This is it.

The call only lasted a few minutes but the tension I felt from before is still present. My hands are shaking as I bury my face into my hands. I must still be in shock mode, because this isn't how I'm supposed to feel. I'm not supposed to feel this empty.

I go through my contacts and click on 'Demi'. The phone rings a few times before she answers hesitantly.

"Hey, Sel…"

I cut to the chase "I got the call." Silence.

"And? What did she say?"

"Come home" I say. I don't want to have this conversation on the phone, and she knows this.

"Sel, I can't right now, you know I can't." I know she can't, but I really hoped she would put me first for once.

"I need you here right now." I shudder at my shaky voice and clear my throat.

"I know, babe, I know. But I'm halfway across the country, I can't right now." She sounds desperate, and I almost feel bad, until I remember our circumstances.

"When can you be here?" I ask.

She sighs. Bad news. "I can't leave for at least another week. I'm sorry."

It's my turn to sigh, but I don't say anything. I could feel the sobs rumbling up to my throat and I cover my mouth to silence myself. The last thing I want is for her to feel guilty right now, but this isn't something I can control.

"Sel, please don't cry. You know I want to be there for you right now, you know that. I just…I need to be here too. I'm trying to balance everything at once. Just, please don't hold this against me."

I really don't mean to, because I know how hard she's working. But sometimes it hurts when she's not here, especially at a time like this. I don't say anything again, because I'm afraid my voice is going to betray how hurt I really am, and I don't want to hurt her. I pull the phone away from my ear and hold it at arms lengths. I choke on my first few breaths and stick my head between my legs to keep myself from hyperventilating.

I can faintly hear my name coming through my phone but I ignore it and continuously mumble under my breath. _In two three. Out two three. _The last thing I need is to have a panic attack right now. The tears fall out of my clenched eyes regardless, but I manage to steady my breathing, enough to talk at least.

"Sorry," I whisper "I'll just see you when you get back." She tries to say something, but I hang up quickly. That's when I finally break down.

I let the guilt build up in my stomach, to the point where I start clawing at my arms, my stomach, my face, wherever, with my sharp nails. Anything to physically show what I'm feeling emotionally. The pain is gushing out of my body in the form of tears and mangled sobs. I kneel onto the carpeted floor and bang my closed fists against it, pressing my face into the carpet.

It's impossible to even think clearly and I don't even bother to stifle my sobs at this point. I think I could cry all night.

I manage to pick myself off the floor and walk towards our bedroom. Yeah, our bedroom, even though I'm basically the only one who is ever here to sleep in it.

I groan and flop onto my bed, this really isn't her fault, and it's not her fault she isn't here right now. I knew she would be away for a while, and we agreed that it would be best for her career right now. This isn't her fault, stop blaming her, no wonder she's never home with you.

I let my thoughts consume me and wrap myself in the covers before falling asleep.

I'm woken up by my alarm clock early in the morning and I remember all the things I had to do today, but I call and cancel. I roll over and cuddle into my covers more. I fall asleep before I have a chance to even think about the phone call I received the night before.

When I wake up I spend the day in bed watching old shows on tv. I'm barely even paying attention to whatever is playing in front of me and I still haven't eaten anything today. I turn to the window on my right and realize it's quite dark outside.

I groan as I get up to walk to the kitchen to grab something to eat. As I look through the fridge, my stomach grumbles in protest and I feel nauseous. I look down at my stomach, lift up my shirt, and place my left hand over it, rubbing lightly. I physically shake my head to dislodge the nasty thoughts attempting to claw their way back into the foreground.

I climb back up the stairs, and catch my breath at the top, astounded at how tired I am even though I spent all day in bed. I guess they were right when they said emotional distress is just as bad, and maybe worse than the physical.

A warm bath would be nice right now, I think, as I go into the bathroom and fill the tub with hot water. I drop in a lavender bath salt and wait for the bubbly water to rise. I sigh and feel somewhat content. I grab my phone and blast my 'calm' playlist, which mostly consists of Thomas Newman.

I undress quickly and slide into the bath. The water is noisily rushing into the tub and along with the music playing I can hardly hear the thoughts in my head.

I place my head against the edge of the tub and curse myself for not putting a towel there; my neck was going to be sore. After what I guess was half an hour, I lift my head and turn to reach for the towel rack. But my eyes trail to the door and I see Demi leaning against the frame. She smiles lightly at me and I sink into the water to cover my exposed body.

"Hey, don't cover up on my account." She winks and I melt, she would skip out on her obligations to come home to see me.

"You know, you're guna get a kink in your neck just leaning against the tub like that." She giggles. I look down and rub my neck a bit.

"Yeah, I realized after I got in." She smiles at me again and lets her coat slide to the bathroom floor. She rolls her sleeves up and gestures for me to lay back down. I do as she asks and she starts rubbing my neck and shoulders. I moan in satisfaction.

She's been home for five minutes and she's managed to calm me down already.

"I'm sorry I'm a little late," she whispers in my ear "This was the earliest flight I could take home." I moan as she hits a particularly painful spot on my shoulders and my head lolls back onto the tub again. She takes this as an opportunity to place a kiss on my forehead and I smile.

"I'm just glad you're here," I whisper as she brings her lips to mine.

"Yeah, me too."

She keeps massaging my shoulders and eventually moves down to caress my chest and then my stomach. Her hands halt there and she sighs.

"Are you okay?" I place my hands on top of hers and nod as she places her chin on my shoulder.

She quickly pecks my cheek and says," The water is getting cold. Come on, let's go to bed." She pulls me out of the bathtub and I step onto the carpet, slightly shivering. She pulls a towel off the hook for me and rubs my body to dry it. I look at her determined face, and I can see how hard she's trying not to break down. It literally breaks my heart when she looks up at my face and attempts a smile.

As hard as this is on me, I know it's just as hard on her. I know being away from me all the time hurts, and I know not being here to hear the news hurt her even more. I pull her into a tight hug but she pulls away from me, shaking her head.

"I'll, uh, see you in the bedroom." She stutters as she walks away and I can hear her sniffling through the door. Clearly this hit her as hard as it hit me, and I feel bad for thinking the bad things I thought of her before.

After getting dressed in my pajamas I walk back into our bedroom and see her huddled under the covers. I slip into bed next to her and try to pull the cover off her head but she holds on tight and I can feel her body shaking next to me.

I dive under the covers and look at her tear-stained face. I open my mouth to say something but she shakes her head. So I put my arms around her and hold her close to me. She continues to sob into my chest and I can feel tears prickling my eyes but I hold them back.

"I'm sorry," she stutters out "I'm supposed to be comforting you right now. I don't have the right to accept your comfort, you're the one…" I shush her and lean back to wipe the tears off her face. I place a chaste kiss against her trembling lips and I can feel the tears start to fall down my cheeks.

"Hey, look, we both have a right to be upset right now. Both of us have been trying for this for so long. This was our dream, together. You have every right to be as upset as I am right now." I try to comfort her, but the dread fills my stomach regardless.

"I'm still sorry. For everything. For not being here to support you, for not being here in general, for our loss. I just want you to know that I'm sorry." I nod into her shoulder and whisper _it's okay, we'll get through this, we're stronger than this_, and whatever combination of words it will take for us to get through this.

"We'll try again," she whispers against my lips and I nod. "We're going to make it stick this time, I promise." I nod again as I bury my nose into her neck. She let's me cry for a bit, and when my tears slow down and pulls me out again to kiss my forehead.

"This time next year, we'll have a little baby waking us up at ungodly hours with its crying okay? I know it, I just know it, and we are going to be the happiest we've ever been. I promise you okay? I promise." And strangely enough, having her next to me, and hearing her certainty is all it took to make me feel okay again.


	13. Hair

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Hair**

Demi's hair fills the empty spaces between my fingers as I run them against her scalp. The guttural moan that escapes her lips vibrates against my exposed neck. I can feel even the tiniest hairs on my body rise as if her breath was summoning them. Her forehead rests against the space between my collarbone and I lightly place my chin on top of her head. All the while continuing to play with her hair.

I can't remember the last time we've sat just like this, so calm, so peaceful, so simple. As much as I love talking to her and kissing her, sometimes I prefer sitting like this, sometimes I just want to _be_ with her. Because when we're like this, we don't have to think about our lives, our careers, our worries, it's just us, like we were when we were kids.

I barely recognized her when I opened my door a few hours earlier, but her blonde hair suits her, surprisingly well.

My eyes flutter closed as I weave my fingers through her hair and clutch onto her head for dear life. I place a kiss on her head. She unfolds her legs and wraps them around my waist, I draw her into me and hold tight.

I bury my nose into her hair and breathe in deeply; she does the same to me. She smells familiar, and it's amazing that this still provides the world's amount of comfort for me, for us. I inhale deeply again, and I feel lightheaded from her intoxicating scent. I almost feel like I'm intruding because it's been so long and in a momentary lapse of judgment, I let go and pull away.

The look on her face stops my heart, and I wonder how I've gone so long without being in her presence. Her thoughts reflect mine as she brings up a tentative hand to my cheek and smiles. I stare back in awe at the beauty in front of me and twirl a piece of her long hair between my fingers.

"You look beautiful." A blush tints her already pink cheeks and she buries her face into my neck. A feeling of content energy falls over me, falls over the entire room really. It's like a tension in the air that has dissipated and all I feel is warmth, her warmth.

This is the best feeling in the world, just being with her. I feel comfortably surrounded, unlike the usual feeling of claustrophobia that comes with being this close to anyone else. I weave my fingers through her hair again and bring my lips up to her ear. Stray hairs tickle my noise and lips as I breathe out, "I could stay like this forever."


	14. Phobia

******A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Phobia**

I wanted to tell you that it was okay, that we were going to be okay. But I knew we weren't going to be, and that scared me. I didn't think it would be a problem, I thought everything would be all right. I was wrong, again.

I watched you as you choked on your uneven breath and spluttered out some incoherent words. I could see the flurry of warm air escaping from your trembling red lips. You were cold. You were shaking. And there was nothing I could do.

You turned to look at me at some point, and you smiled, telling me it was okay with your pain-filled eyes. It looked more like a grimace and your face twisted in pain as you twisted your body to look at me. I really wanted to believe you, I really did. I thought everything would turn out okay, for you at least. It was my fault anyways. I should have known not to take you out that night. I should have known because you are so terribly afraid. You always had been, since you were younger. I should have been more careful.

I should have been more careful because it's you, and I need you. It's _you_. I swore I would do everything in my power to protect you, and I'm the one that hurt you.

I hold on to your hand in front of me and say a quick prayer. When all is lost, seek God, isn't that right? We all do it, and then something bad happens and we think, if you help me now, I'll be in your service forever. And then when the 'oh so terrible' moment passes and everything is okay again, and we forget. I'm sure that happens more to God than every single breath I take in, every single day for all the days of my life. I feel bad for him.

I know that, and yet I sit here and pray, because I need to have faith that everything is going to be okay. I need to have faith in some supernatural force that will heal you. Because if there's no God, there's nobody that can help me now, and I need all the help I can get.

You looked beautiful that night. I wish I had told you then. You look beautiful now too though. I can't look at you for too long, because I feel too guilty. You'll say it isn't my fault, but it is.

You looked so fragile, so scared, so tired. I was supposed to talk to you and keep your beautiful eyes open. Needless to say, I failed at that as well.

I look at your battered body and pull away from your gentle grasp. Barely even a grasp, really. I step outside of the room, but I feel the same as I was in your room sitting next to you. I think I've passed the point of being numb, feeling nothing, feeling shock at the very least. Now I can feel the tears pricking at the corner of my eyes as my eyelids droop closed. I stagger down the hallway towards the stairwell, a trail of water zig-zagging down my pale face.

I collapse into the corner of the wall, uncaring whether someone will walk up or down the stairs and see me. My arms shield my head and hide the hot tears pooling in my eyes. I choke on air, like you did that night.

You asked if I was all right. I lost my voice, couldn't speak. I saw how worried you were because of it, but not a sound escaped my tightly closed mouth. Even the thunderous sobs rumbling in my chest were choked down my throat in an effort to keep the space between us silent. I forced myself to look at you, to look at the pain I caused. I wanted to see you hurt, because it hurt me. It still hurts me. And I needed, need, to feel that pain to remind me what I've done.

An image of the car flashes in my mind, crumpled like a discarded piece of paper. Your face flashes through the window of my mind and I painfully squeeze my eyes shut as I dig my nails into my scalp.

You had a panic attack in the car when you tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. I sat there, catatonic. You were yelling at me to help, but I just sat there and stared. I always knew you were claustrophobic, but I didn't think it would get that bad. Your labored breathing, from struggling to open the door, from yelling at me, from sustaining so many injuries, fell short, and it frightened me. Coupled with your past experience with car accidents, I knew you were struggling with the situation. And yet all I did was sit there and stare at you as you gasped for breath and eventually passed out from lack of air.

I wipe my tears away and walk back to the room. I open the door and hesitate as soon as I see your mom sitting next to you, talking softly. She turns to look at me and then smiles. I smile back and look at you. The pity in your eyes physically hurts me; I stagger back and close the door behind me as I choke on another sob.

Your mom walks out and pulls me into a tight hug, probably at your insistence. She continues to whisper what are supposed to be soothing words, but hold no comfort for me. They quite literally tumble out of the opposite ear they fell into. My vision blurs and I turn away, gesturing to go back into the room. She nods in understanding and mutters something about coffee.

It's been weeks since the accident, and one week since she's woken up. I haven't spoken a word since the accident, not for lack of trying either. My mouth becomes dry and I feel lightheaded. It's like my mind is sending signals to the rest of my body to prevent me from speaking at all. So I don't.

She's tried to get me to speak to her, but I haven't since that night. The doctors think I'm suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. And yes, you could partially blame it on the stress from the accident, and from seeing her like that. Everyone's worried about me, but they don't talk about it in front of me. The doctors say it'll only make things worse, but I know what they say about me behind my back, so I don't know what the difference is. The doctors have also floated around the idea that the car accident damaged my nerves and brain, causing me to become mute. I think they're crazy. But it's something that the people and my family hold on to, because it's not a mental issue, and if it's not a mental issue then its real. If it's real then its treatable, to them at least.

When she asked me why I haven't spoken to her the first time I shrugged and continued to stare at her. I think it scared her a little bit, she told me it did, but jokingly. I believed her anyways, because I could see the fear in her eyes. I think she feels guilty for it, but she has nothing to feel guilty for. I do.

I walk back into the room and attempt a smile at you that doesn't look as genuine as I hoped, so I sit in the chair next to your bed. You pat the bed and shift over.

"Come sit" Your voice sounds beautiful, but I don't comment.

I shake my head and her smile slowly falls. She's disappointed, and I feel bad, but I look away. She sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed. She rests a loving hand against my cheek and gives me the most pathetic smile. A give her a pathetic smile back and she pulls me into a tight hug. My arms fall limp to my sides and my eyes remain open. She places a hand against the back of my head and tilts my head into her shoulder. Her hospital gown darkens my vision and I finally close my eyes.

"Cry." She tells me. I don't know what she means and I try to pull back, but she holds me tight into her and says it again. We sit in silence for a few minutes. I don't cry.

She finally pulls back, more like pushes me back, and my tired body falls back into the chair next to the bed. She lies back down and lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Why won't you talk? To me, to anyone. Please." I avoid her steel-hard gaze and look at my fingers. I can feel my pulse quicken, I'm expected to talk. My hands turn red and splotchy and I find it hard to breathe. I try to think of something to say, but my mind is blank and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I can hear my harsh breathing and I swallow a lump down my throat.

She looks at me for a few more seconds until I hear the bed groaning. I look up to see her lying down with her back faced away from me. She tells me to leave with her body language and I can hear her sniffling into her hands.

I get up and walk towards the door, but think twice and walk to the window on the opposite wall. I pick up one of the 'Get Well!" cards and walk back to the chair. My purse is sitting on the floor next to it and I ruffle through it to find a pen. I turn the card on the back and scribble a few words.

I get up and put a tentative hand on her shoulder and turn her to look at me. My heart breaks when I see her tear-stained face and I turn the card toward her so she can see.

'Words hurt. I don't want to hurt you anymore.' was scribbled on the back of her card.

"You not speaking hurts me more," She whispers. "I don't blame you for what happened. I know we were arguing, but it wasn't your fault and everything is okay. Please, just talk to me. Please." She's begging me now and I don't look her in the eye.

I struggle to understand why she's being so good to me, because I'm the one that put her in that position. I can't wipe the look of fear off her face when she looked at me just before we hit. Or the look on her face right after, when she realized she was re-living one of her greatest fears. Or the look on her face when she realized she was stuck in the car and couldn't get out. And I sat there, while she was terrified out of her mind. I don't know how she can be so forgiving and so understanding after all I've done.

I open my mouth to speak and nothing comes out, again. I give her an apologetic look, and she looks hurt, but she understands. I take the card back from her and scribble something else on it. She looks at my hand and waits for it to move so she can see what it says.

She lets out a few tears when she does and pulls me into a tight hug. I shed a few tears as well and can feel my body starting to shake against hers. She presses herself tighter against me as she tries to absorb the waves of tremors flowing from my body.

"I'll wait. As long as it takes." She whispers, as a strangled sob escapes my throat.


	15. Songs

**********A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Songs**

I scroll through the songs in my iPod but find nothing good enough to soothe the anxious feeling rumbling through my stomach. The howling storm outside the window furthers my anxiety and the moving bus makes me sick to my stomach. These are the times that I wish I could just call you and we would talk and everything would be alright.

But it's far too late now. The sky is dark, except for the few bright flashes of light gashing through it and illuminating the inside of the bus. A deep rumbling, that should have startled me, disturbs the constant pitter-patter of rain. It rolls into me like heavy ocean waves. The sound of the thunder crashes against my skin, my ears, my eyes, and my mouth, and I gasp at the aftershock. I'm left with a slight tingling sensation gracing the surface of my skin like there are tiny sparks erupting off it. I press my warming forehead against the cold dark window and exhale noisily, leaving a patch of thick fog.

A few sounds escape with my breath, like little whimpers from a sleeping baby. I move my hand up to write on the window, but find myself at a loss of what to write. Anything cliché like "D + S = 3" just won't do, I think. I can feel the cold air being magnetized to my elevated finger as it sways back and forth in front of the patchy window.

The fog begins to dissipate and I sigh in annoyance at my indecisive nature. I pull my finger back and rub it in my clasped hands to escape the terribly cold feeling that has been left over. It spreads through my body and I attempt to suppress a shudder. I breathe on the window quickly and draw a small heart before getting up. I hiss as my bare feet touch the cold floor, almost hot, as if it were possible for them to burn. I hop onto the bed and lie facing upwards.

Being alone really isn't all that glamorous anymore, and I find myself wishing to be around the people I was so desperately trying to get away from earlier. Sadness claws at me just as quickly as the cold did earlier, and I let it. Because it's nice and comforting and sometimes I just don't have the strength to be kidding myself into thinking that I'm stronger than this.

I lift my hands up and touch the top bunk. Light flashes in through the window then and I can almost glimpse the small little scars gracing my inner wrist. 'Pretty' I think, and it is quite true.

I trace the almost untraceable scars, and wish I could feel deep ridges under my soft fingertips instead of slight blemishes, if nothing at all. I trail my hand up towards my arm, dancing and tickling all the way through, until I reach slightly larger scars. 'Prettier', I think, but disgusting as well. I trace over the raised lines on my otherwise untainted skin. The lines that form letters, eventually, or once did I suppose. The lines that form a word.

I struggle to keep the thoughts and the word, that word, from being engraved into my mind, but they're already engraved into my skin.

I know better, I know what I'm doing and I know that it's unhealthy, but I let my barriers down anyways. Why? Because I'm tired, so drained of energy, and so god damn hopeless. I latch on to anything that will keep my mind occupied, anything that doesn't require me to actually think.

I settle on reciting the set list through my mind, over and over and over again. I mumble the names of the songs under my breath, which hitches once I reach "Believe in me". I almost laugh at the irony, but it quickly turns into a muffled sob, my throat attempting to conceal the noise from the cold night. I roll onto my right and hit the side of the bus in frustration.

My phone rings. Ignore. Again. Ignore. The stupid ringtone bothers me so I turn it off before they get another chance to call again. I get up and pace the bus, almost seething in anger over my lack of control. I struggle to remember the last time it has felt this bad, but the memory comes back. All I can think about is that memory, in that dream when you kissed my arm. And I find myself wishing you were here, but then again not. Why should I drag you farther into this mess than you already are? I've already poisoned you enough. I really am a quite deadly poison, so deadly I can't die from the poison that is poisoning my life.

I walk to my suitcase on the other side of the bus and shuffle through it quickly. I ignore the way the weather reflects my mood and try to find something that will comfort me. I finally pull out the tiny memory card that I carefully placed into my otherwise messy bag. I scramble to change out of my uncomfortable clothes and pull on an all too familiar hoody over my thin frame.

I crawl into my bed under the thin sheet and drag my laptop onto my lap. I slip in the memory card and open it. My headphones fill the space in my ears as the music from the memory card lets out a few easing notes. The playlist continues for an hour and a half, and for the first time I don't curse my insomnia, because the songs soothe me better than the sweetest lullaby ever could.

My lips turn up into a smile and I remember what you told me once, "If you start the day with a smile, your day will be full of happiness." I close my laptop and roll over to retrieve my phone. I turn it back on and go through the messages you left. My fingers dance over the screen as I type a message back to you, not wanting to call in case you've fallen asleep.

A couple minutes later a noise sounds throughout the bus. I grin as I look at my phone, and I feel comfort from the same ringtone that annoyed me so much a few hours earlier.

No matter how bad it gets, I know you're the only one that will be my very own blanket of comfort in my life, and I am forever grateful for that. You put those songs together because you knew I would break being so far away. You know when things aren't okay, and you know what to say. More importantly, you make me want to get better, if not for myself, then for you. And that is why I love you, for putting me first even though you deserve the entire world.

I pick up the phone, and think; maybe things really will be alright.

**Review and I'll post more. **


	16. Sore

**************A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove **

**Sore**

I groan as I practically limp back to my dressing room. I really fell quite hard this time and my back scraped against the stairs on my way down. At least it was near the end of the show and I was able to play it off quite well. Now that the excitement from the concert has died down quite a bit I can feel tears pricking the corner of my eyes, both at my embarrassment and for my aching body.

My dressing room is empty, as expected, and I struggle to change out of my uncomfortable clothes. I take my shirt off and a sigh escapes my lips as I look at my scratched back in the mirror. Well, it doesn't look as bad as it feels. I roll my shoulders back and turn my head, attempting to crack my neck. I reach back and rub my shoulder a little, feeling the tense nerves harden under my grip. I get changed quickly and am about to rush to the tour bus when my manager walks through the door.

"Hey, Demi, great job tonight." She smiles warmly at me and I struggle out a semi-smile.

"Thanks." I mumble, she could tell I was exhausted.

"I just wanted to let you know that we're stopping off here tonight, so we booked you a hotel."

I let her words sink in as I exhale a short breath. I decide not to question why we were being held up a day and just accept the fact that I could relax for one night. My eyes flutter closed as I think about a nice, hot, and very still shower. I imagine myself falling into a warm fluffy bed, surrounded by 6 or 7 pillows, safe and sound. I nod towards her as she turns around and leads the way.

The strap of my bag cuts deep into my shoulder and I struggle to readjust it to a semi-comfortable position. I tip slightly onto my left foot and bring my hand out towards the wall for a little support. My fingertips touch the cold concrete and I steady myself square onto my feet.

She leads me to the tour bus and I get on, making my way to the back to pack a smaller, but still heavy, bag with necessities for the night. The shaky ride comes to an abrupt halt and I stumble, my eyes closing in a dizzy spell. I rub my neck with my right hand tightly before picking up my bag and heading out of the bus.

I look at the hotel in front of me and groan at its grungy appearance. I dig my palms into the hollow of my eyes in frustration, hoping that the hotel, or more like a motel, in front of me would just disappear. I think back to my earlier fantasy of a nice comfy room, and bring up a more realistic "fantasy" of the dingy motel room I would be sleeping in tonight.

The walls are surely a sickening pale pink color, a mix between cream, orange and pink. The thought of it makes me cringe. The wallpaper is probably a nauseating pattern, like a Minoan maze in the most ridiculous colors. The carpet would be a sick brown-green color, almost like a mix of barf and snot. A shiver runs through my body at the thought of even letting my feet touch the filthy carpet.

I imagine the bed being infested by ants or hair or having disgusting stains running through the covers. I almost gag at that point and turn to look at my manager, giving her an "are you fucking kidding me?" look.

She chuckles slightly and raises an eyebrow.

"Really Demi, you have to take a look at your surroundings before you make a comment."

I raise both my eyebrows at her and say, "I didn't comment…yet."

She smirks, "Well since I know you so well…" She walks towards the front of the bus and turns left towards the street. I follow her and look towards the direction in which she's pointing. I sigh in relief at the slightly larger and much cleaner looking building in front of me.

I choke on a laugh and look at her, "You did that on purpose didn't you?"

She just nods and gives me the information I need to get to my room, as well as a key card. She clearly had the room booked earlier and didn't tell me we were stopping over until much later. I groan as I walk up the stairs, of course the elevator wouldn't be working. I struggle to catch my breath as I climb the last flight of stairs; the concert clearly took a toll on me. I make it onto the landing and open the door to floor number 3.

I'm looking forward to sleeping in a nice big bed as I walk towards my room down the hall to the right. The floor is a forest green color with a cream design. The color of the wall is a calming creamy tan and I'm thankful it doesn't attack my eyes like the pale pink in the motel surely would have.

I finally reach my room number written on a gold plaque _'Room 342'_. I sigh contently and slide my key card into the door. With a satisfying beep and a green light urging my to just _go_, I enter the room and close the door behind me, dropping my bag with a loud **thump**.

I lean against the wall next to the door I just closed and locked and debate whether I should go straight into the bathroom and shower or call Selena first. I look at the closed bathroom door and sigh, shower first, call later, that way her soft words can lull me to sleep.

I pick up my heavy bag from the floor and walk down the tiny hallway and into the room. I shrug out of my clothes for what was probably the fourth or fifth time that night. I grab my small bag and walk to the bathroom in my bra and panties. Just before I reach the door, it opens, revealing a half naked girl wearing the biggest smirk on her face.

I drop the bag I was holding on to and inhale her appearance. My eyes dart all over her face and body, like they can't believe what they are seeing.

The darkness of the hallway and the sliver of light shining through leave a slightly sinister shadow on her face. Coupled with her grin, I'm almost weary to go in, despite already knowing her intentions. Nevertheless, her face and body language extend an invitation. Her grin at my shocked expression turns into a small admiring smile that says 'why don't you come in?'

She opens the door slightly more and beckons me with a small wave of her fingers. She gives me a look, like 'really? You haven't seen me in weeks and you're not jumping on me already?' I almost feel like she's my mother scolding me for not finishing all the food on my plate. And with the thought of my mother in my mind, I step towards the open door and place the tips of my fingers on her stomach, pushing her back.

That's when she genuinely smiles. She takes my touch as an invitation for her to touch me as she tentatively brings her hand up towards my face. Her fingers hover over my skin, without really touching it, and she threads them in my now black hair. She pulls me close to her and leads me into a soft hug. My head is buried in her neck, due to her height, and I carefully place one hand on her hip, almost on her stomach, while the other rests on her arm, acting as a sort of barrier. Her head skims through the strands of hair draped around my face, her nose leading the way and inhaling deeply.

She places light kisses onto my head that send my hair into a sort of frenzy, tickling my face and neck. I almost giggle, but stop myself. My aching body really taking a toll as I let my knees go weak for only a second. The arm draped around my back holds me steady and I wince as it rubs against my sore back. She places a kiss on my cheek and turns me around to inspect the damage.

"Not too bad sweetheart, just a few minor scratches. Should've been worse from the way you fell. Looked like it hurt." A bit of a southern accent came through and I smile, of course she was there tonight.

Tonight has quite literally been one surprise after another and I was grateful that all of them turned out to be good, so far. Her fingers drift along the small of my back where my skin is slightly raised where the scratches are.

I almost laugh again at the situation, because having scratches on my back has never been a rare occurrence with a partner like her. She likes it kinky, and I'm not completely opposed to the idea either. The scratches on my back this time aren't produced from sex, but from my embarrassment, or I suppose more accurately, are produced from my hard work and unfortunately high heels.

After she finishes her examination, she runs her hands up my back and scratches very lightly until she reaches my shoulders. I moan slightly at the feeling, that I obviously associate with sex, and she grins as she places a kiss at the uppermost point of my spine. I shiver in anticipation and expect her to reach down into my panties or touch my breast at the very least, maybe even unhook my bra.

She runs her hands up to my shoulders and places her thumbs in-between my shoulder blades and rubs in a circular motion. I moan again.

"You haven't said a thing since I've gotten here you know? I thought we could have a little fun tonight, but I can see that you're tired. So I'll tell you what..." She trails off at that point, clearly expecting an answer, but I'm all too caught up in the fact that my rock hard shoulders are being molded into silly-putty, and she knows she's got me eating from the palm of her hand.

"Mmm, what?" The words, or rather word, escape my mouth before I could filter whatever was coming out. She seems satisfied though as she rubs a little harder, applying a calculated pressure to the knotted nerves.

"Tonight is going to be about pampering you, because I can't even imagine how sore you feel right now. Just a nice comfortable easy night okay?"

"Mmmm, yeah that sounds good…" My voice trembling as she travels up my neck with one of her hands and pinches the base of my skull. God, this is exactly what I needed. I should have thought about getting a masseuse in a long time ago. Selena though, Selena knows exactly how to make me feel right, and I struggle to understand how she manages to store all those tiny details in her head. And more importantly, how she remembers them when we're in the throes of passion.

She steps away, and I almost let a groan out, but she laughs before I can, clearly knowing what my response will be.

"How about you take a nice hot shower and I'll be waiting for you to get out."

I thought she would be joining the shower with me, given her semi-naked body and her very aroused voice. She senses my confusion and proceeds to explain, "I've got a lot more fun stuff in store for you later. And plus, I think you need to relax a bit on your own."

She gives me a pointed look, so I nod and she slowly spins me around by my hips. She leans forward and places a kiss that couldn't have lasted more than 4 seconds, but left me quite breathless to say the least. The feeling I get from being around her makes every other 'good' feeling seem inferior. So, needless to say, not being around her for more than a couple weeks feels like being surrounded by relentless thunderclouds.

She walks out of the bathroom with her smirk in place yet again and a teasing wink. I shed my remaining clothes and turn on the water to 'hot' before walking in a few seconds later.

The water cascading down my body feels soothing, until it reaches the scratches on my back, causing them to sting slightly. I let the water roll over my dry skin lightly and I savor the feeling of finally being saved from the dark and cold thunderclouds. I lean my head forward and wet my hair as I draw my arms into me, making a fist just at the base of my neck.

I've always laughed at the scenes in the movies where the actor would get into a hot shower and just let the water cascade over the bodies as they stood there in contemplation. Nevertheless, I did just that on a regular basis. I found the alone time to be very soothing, as it was only ever present when I was in the bathroom. The more time I could stay alone and content, the better. Taking a shower always provided that escape for me, and I always wanted to keep that close to me.

Selena knew that of course, knew it but didn't quite understand it. I attempted to explain it to her at one point, that it was my comfort zone, and it was meant only for me. She took the words to heart though, and more importantly respected my boundaries.

Showering with her would be great, of course. I'd heard great things about shower sex, but this place was for me, this is where I draw the line, and she has never once crossed it. I love her for that, for respecting my boundaries as I respect hers.

My mind wanders back to the show, quite a disastrous night, and I'm glad Selena chose this one to come to, almost as if she knew I would muck it all up.

I finish up my quicker than usual shower and drain out some of the water from my hair before stepping onto the towel carefully placed under the tub. I grab a bigger towel and dry myself off careful before dropping it and taking a smaller one for my hair.

I stand in front of the mirror and only wipe off the foggy spot where my face is. Without taking a second look, I drop my towel and march out of the bathroom, before I lose my confidence.

Selena looks slightly shocked at my bold nature, but shakes her head and laughs anyway.

"Come on sweet thing, time for your massage"

She has a smaller towel wrapped into a cylinder near the top of the bed and she motions for me to lie down. I do and place my neck onto the towel, slightly resting my left cheek against it.

She takes out a bottle of massaging oil out of her bag and I moan in anticipation. She pours out a few drops down my spine and on my lower back. The warm oil slides left and right as I turn my head to look at her concentrated facial expression. She looks at me and grins as she caps the bottle and puts it away.

She pushes my head back down onto the towel and spreads the oil around my back lightly with her fingers. The warm oil covers my back and makes me feel like I'm glowing. She runs her hands up my back from the base, her hands cupping my sides and slightly tickling my stomach. Her thumbs are on either side of my spine as she starts from the dimples on my back and rubs all the way up to my shoulder blades. It's as if she knows the perfect amount of pressure to put in order to make me feel better, without hurting me.

She carefully avoids the raised scratches on my back as she grinds into my moist skin with her nimble fingers. I moan in appreciation. This is the best I've felt in a while.

By the end, my shoulders are relaxed and my neck is relatively kink free. I thank her by sitting up and kissing her once, twice, three times, on her moist lips. She pulls away with a small smile on her face, her eyes still closed, and her tongue darting out of her mouth. She draws her bottom lip into her mouth and sucks on it before releasing it with a slight 'pop'.

"How long are you here for?" I ask anxiously.

She opens her eyes and tilts her head in an endearing way. "I booked the week off so we could spend some time together."

I smile even wider, thankful for having such a wonderfully thoughtful partner. "So you're prepared for the tour experience for an entire week?" I draw out my words in a slightly mocking manner and she flicks my arm playfully. "Duh loser, who else would I experience this with? You're a total rock star babe."

Laughter bubbles up my chest and through my parted lips. "Okay, slow down there." I joke.

She laughs even harder "Are you kidding me? Girls throw your _panties_ at you Dem, you're a total rock star."

I giggle as a response and nod my head in agreement "Total rock star." I say as I go in for another kiss from her. She presses her lips against mine but pulls away.

"I think you've had enough action for the night though, how about we just go to bed?"

I give her one of the most annoyed looks I could possibly muster but she continues to laugh harder than before.

"Come on babe, I don't want you waking up even more sore than you were tonight, do you?" She teasingly replies. I giggle at her response and allow my smile to grow bigger.

I lift myself up slightly to release the covers that were pinned under me and settle into the warm and comfortable bed I fantasized about earlier. Except this time, a warm and comforting person slides in beside me and I sigh contently. I snuggle into her as she wraps her arms around me and kisses the border between my hair and forehead.

I whisper my thanks, she responds by pulling me closer and I settle into her comforting embrace before my eyes droop closed and I'm lulled to sleep.

**I took time out of my winter-break vacation to write this, so I hope you like it. In the meantime, send in more prompts, and please review so I can see if I should keep these drabbles going or not. **

**On another note, can anybody recognize a literary reference in this one? Hint: It's from the book 'Lolita'. **


	17. Red

**A/N: To submit prompts visit my tumblr page demi-selenalove**

**Red by Taylor Swift**

Colours blur, fade into each other, no dividing lines. Everything turns to red, too red. Burning red.

Separate moments flash into my mind, blending together just like the colours of the leaves zooming past me.

_We're driving through a forest in autumn. My idea. She begrudgingly agreed. I thought spending time together would strengthen our relationship, and maybe our problems wouldn't seem so big when surrounded by such beauty. _

_My eyes can't work fast enough to pick up the separate shapes and colours floating past me. Just a blur of red. Wet, dark red. _

_Everything about her has always been so vibrant, and that's what attracted me to her the most. But it seems the longer we go, and the faster we drive, everything just fades. All too quickly. _

She fades from me. The way she looks. It's like my eyes can't identify with the image I first had of her anymore. She doesn't look different, but she _looks_ different. Sometimes I wish I could look at any old picture of her and things would be clear, but I don't and they aren't. Nothing is clear anymore without her next to me. But when I think about it, she's the reason why things became unclear in the first place.

_I turn to look at her as she holds the wheel tightly in front of her. I notice that she presses a tiny bit harder on the gas when she sees me watching her. It's almost as if she wants the image I have of her to blur, like she doesn't want me to see her at all, almost. She turns to look at me, and my breath hitches in my throat when I catch her eye. _

_I don't register that she's not watching the road; the thought doesn't go through. All I see is her suddenly clear eyes, blazing into mine. Blazing, like they're on fire. I can't decide if it's her passion or her anger. I pull my eyes away from hers to look at her blank face. No passion, no anger, nothing. The scenery behind her blurs into red, as she presses on the gas hard and looks forward. _

She gets angry with me that day. I give her the wrong directions, and we end up driving down a long road, until it hits a dead-end.

_The tires squeal to a stop when she applies the break harshly. I don't need to look at her to see the red behind her eyes. She sputters and mumbles and swears a bit before somewhat calming down. I don't say a word. _

_She takes the map from my hands, gently, and I wonder how she can go from such great anger, to such care in a few moments. _

_Her eyes dart around the map, and I'm hesitant to point to the road we're on. I do. _

_She looks down at me thankfully and gives me a small smile. A confused expression sets up camp on my face before I have a chance to process her actions. She shoots me a goofy grin and leans onto my side of the car to give me a kiss on the cheek. The expression on my face remains confused, until the tent of confusion deflates and one of slight worry appears in its stead. _

_She tells me I stress too much, and that I over-think things, and that's why she gets a little angry with me sometimes. I understand that, and vow that I'll keep myself in check. She looks at me with pity in her eyes. _

I almost wonder how she had that much control over me, how I _let_ her have that much control over me. I know why now, I knew then too, I just couldn't admit to myself that maybe she was toxic. Maybe _red_ wasn't good for me at all. And maybe I shouldn't have let things go as far as they did.

_She rolls off me and turns her back towards me, blocking me out. I struggle to catch my raspy breath and press my hand hard against the skin over my heart to feel it beating sporadically. Why do I feel like __**this**__ when I'm with her? Why does she make me feel __**high**__? Higher than I've ever been. _

_More importantly though, why can't I make her feel like that? Why am I the one left satisfied, but still so unsatisfied? _

_I finally catch my breath and my heart beats a little slower. It's still pounding though because I can feel her heat radiating towards me. It's like energy vibrating through the air and into my skin, pulling me closer. I roll onto my left arm, but keep some space between us. _

_My finger traces up and down her bare arm until it settles in the palm of her hand. She holds on tight, and I can almost feel her desperation. Instead of crying, like I would have, she rolls onto her back, wraps her arm around me and nudges my head into her shoulder. _

I forget her moment of weakness then, and maybe that was part of the problem.

_I let my love for her overwhelm everything else and I settle into her comfortable embrace. I push the covers down with my fingers as they trace over her smooth skin. The ultra-red advertisements from the motel we're staying at shine through the window and I curse, forgetting to close the curtains. _

_She laughs, kisses my head and says, "It's alright. I kind of like it. It's sort of like we're not really alone, we're being drowned by red."_

The rest of the night went by in a blur. A red blur. I don't quite remember the rest of the trip either. But I do remember what it felt like when I realized that all I ever wanted was right there in front of me. I wanted love. I wanted her. I wanted red, because loving her was red.

The colours blur past me as I drive down the long dead-end road. A never-ending blur of red, blue, and dark grey.

_I watch her as she silently dips the roller into the paint, rubbing off any excess, heading towards the wall. Her concentrated face makes me laugh, and she laughs along with me, _because everything was good then_. We end up painting each other, just as much as the wall. _

_When we finish, we fall onto the plastic covered couch, wrapped into each other. The heat causes our skin to stick painfully to the plastic. The rubbing noises make me giggle, but I hold it in as an attempt to keep the atmosphere light and calm. Her hand rubs up and down my arm and I sigh in content. _

_This is one of the first times we've been able to sit in a comfortable silence and I cherish the moment. I can feel and hear her breathing, pressing against my skin, against my ear. Fiery hot breath starts pouring out her open mouth as I feel her heartbeat quicken against my reddening skin. The blush deepens and spreads along my cheeks and neck, right at the source of her breath. I shiver. _

_She giggles and the tension in the room breaks. I take the moment in-between as a chance to look around the room at the drying paint. She was right about the colour, dark grey. It has a soothing quality, but it also makes me feel nostalgic, without any real reason. _

I think the fumes from the paint got to us that night, because we were delusional the next morning, having slept on the couch in the room. It was the first time in I while I thought that maybe our relationship could work. Turns out _I_ was right about the colour, and for the first time, she was wrong.

The dark grey road stretches ahead of me as I let the feeling of her wash over me. The emptiness of the car has the same effect on me as the colour of the road, the colour of our old room. Missing her was dark grey all alone.

_It's a clear day, no clouds, just a never-ending sea of dark blue skies. I feel comforted by the colour in-between bright day and dark night. It's a radiant dark blue that I rarely ever see, so easy to get lost in, so easy to __**lose**__ yourself in that dark dark blue_.

Losing her was like blue I'd never known. And blue that I now know all too well. Too damn well.

As I drive down the long and winding street, the colours blur and the wind flows through my eyelashes. It feels just like it did a year ago, with her driving next to me. It's like our relationship was always heading down a dead-end street, but it's as if she got out of the car, and I never did.

So where does that leave me?

**Thanks so much to the people who have reviewed, I really appreciate it. **


	18. Part I: Pregnant

**A/N: A few things. First, I've changed my tumblr account to demenafanfic. So if you want to submit story prompts, you can visit that page. **

**Second, this is Part 1 of 3 for this story, thanks to similar prompts being submitted. I hope you like it. **

**Pregnant**

I wake up to an annoying grumbling sound coming from my right. My eyes burn and slightly water when I rub them, a few seconds each, with the heel of my right palm. I groan as another soft grumble is heard and the figure next to me rolls over facing me.

We try to huddle close, but an enlarged stomach is in the way. I chuckle lightly as Demi grumbles a few choice profanities under her breath before rubbing her eyes awake.

I sit up and prop my pillow onto the headboard before leaning my back against it at the perfect angle. Instead of doing the same, Demi sits up and leans against the top of my stomach, just under my breast.

I groan at the weight of her head and she chuckles.

"It's not funny!" I whine, "You have a really heavy head."

She chuckles, but doesn't say anything. Probably because it's too early for her to come up with a good enough comeback.

She mumbles something under her breath a few times before throwing her arm over my stomach and drawing me in, like a lasso being shot over the moon. Her stomach groans again and I giggle as I carefully place my hand on her stomach and rubbing it lightly.

"I'm hungry," She moans, holding the last syllable much longer than needed.

I laugh much louder now, causing her to get up off my stomach and swat my hand away from hers. She pouts at me with her lower lip sticking out of her mouth.

My eyes roll in response to her demeanor and attitude, but I concede.

"Alright then, want me to make you something?"

She draws her bottom lip into her mouth and sucks on it, slightly chewing, as she thinks. She must really be hungry. Or, I groan at the thought, she must be really picky tonight.

After another moment or so, I brace myself for the answer, my face morphing into one of apprehension. She releases her lip with a pop and grins.

"Well, babe, I'm really," she draws out the word for 5 seconds before continuing, "craving that pumpkin pecan cheesecake we had last week." The pout on her face is no match for the incredulous look on mine. I raise my eyebrows in response to her pushing her lip out a little more than before. She looks ridiculous now, and I laugh out my response "No. No way in hell."

She looks like I kicked her puppy then and I laugh louder, "Could you have been any more specific with what you want?" I ask.

She looks defeated "Well, you can't blame me, these stupid cravings are killing me," She says as she places a hand on her gargling stomach and looks down at it.

I almost feel bad for her then, but the sharp pains shooting into my back emphasizes how tired I am as my eyes roll over to my night table and process the numbers. I groan in frustration as I realize the time. I let my head fall into my hands and I rub my tired eyes.

"It's 5 am." I mumble through my hands.

I wait a few moments without a response, wondering if she heard me at all. I turn to look at her drooping eyes and rub my face in frustration, she giggles as she looks at my morphed face through half-shut eyes.

"Oh it's funny is it?" I ask as I shift my weight onto my right arm and tickle her stomach until her eyes pop open.

"Alright, jeez, I'm just tired and hungry" She says.

"Yeah, I've realized. So am I, you know? Would you pop out and get me something at this time?"

She thinks for a few seconds and grins, "Of course I would babe!"

I chuckle in amusement as she leans in to peck me on the lips.

She leans back against the pillow with a look of content on her face. I smile and lean back against my pillow, interlacing our fingers in the space in-between.

"I can't believe we've made it this far this time," She says happily, rubbing my hand with her thumb. "I really have a good feeling about it this time babe. It's like, we're over the hurdle, this is finally happening, you know?"

I smile at her happiness. We've been waiting so long, and we're finally pregnant, it's finally stuck. We can finally have the family we've been dreaming about having for years.

"This here," she says, "This is what bliss feels like. I'm so happy that I can feel it bubbling out of me. You can feel it too right?"

I nod, "Yeah I can feel it too."

"I just want to laugh and smile and dance and jump up and down. I literally can't keep how good I'm feeling inside me."

I turn to look at her, she hasn't been this happy in such a long time, and boy does she deserve it. A wave of uneasiness flows over me as I look at her. The higher the high, the lower the low. I don't say anything though, and choose to be happy with the positive we're feeling now, hoping to God the feeling lasts.

"You're glowing," I say. Her olive coloured skin turns slightly red in a blush. I can almost feel the happiness radiating off her in waves, infecting me inch by inch.

She grins one of her big, full toothed goofy ones, her face scrunching up, wrinkles lining her eyes in happiness.

"I just, haven't felt this good in a while. It's such a huge relief."

"I know," I whisper.

I wince as I move slightly on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position.

She turns her head to look at me with concern in her eyes. "Hey, you alright?"

I nod, explaining that it's just my back, that everything is all right.

She wraps her arm around me and brings me into her in a lying position. "Want a massage?" I shake my head as she turns onto her side with her forehead pressed into my neck.

Her stomach grumbles again, a little louder than before and she giggles into my neck.

"Come on," I whisper, nudging her off me, "I'll make you breakfast while you wash up."

She nods into my neck, staying put. Her eyelashes brushing against my skin as she blinks to stay awake.

I lightly push her head back onto her pillow and get up, leaning back to stretch my back. My shirt rides up my stomach and she giggles at me. "You're going to be one hot momma." She says.

"Mmm," I moan as my back cracks slightly. "You better be washed up by the time I'm done with breakfast alright?" I say authoritatively.

"God, you're acting like _my_ mother, tone it down, the baby hasn't come yet." She says rubbing her stomach. I curl my lip and give her a nasty face before walking towards the kitchen.

I don't hear her get out of bed until the smell of bacon starts wafting through the apartment. I then hear her jump onto the floor, her footsteps padding into the bathroom. I grin at her predictable nature.

I can feel the happiness rising out of me like bubbles, and like a shaken carbonated drink, the laughter flows out of my throat and tumbles into the kitchen. The noise of my laughter mixes in with the sizzling bacon and the kitchen fan. I hum to the noisy kitchen and dance around while preparing the meal.

I can feel a presence sneaking up on me and I smile as two arms softly wrap around my stomach and a wet kiss is placed on the space between my shoulder and neck.

"Smells good." She says as she inhales deeply. She grabs a plate without me having to ask and I place the bacon onto it while she takes it to the kitchen table.

"Thanks for making breakfast." She says as she presses me against the counter and draws me in for a deep kiss. I taste the peppermint toothpaste on her lips and tongue and moan into her mouth. She pulls back and pecks my lips.

"I love you." She says lightly.

I smile, "I love you too."

She leans down on one knee, nudges up my shirt and puts her hands on my stomach.

"And I love you too." She whispers as she presses a kiss to my slightly enlarged stomach.

She looks up at me with the biggest grin on her face. My eyes dart back and forth, across her face, taking in her smile, the happiness in her eyes, and I store the images in my mind as an attempt to replicate the beauty in front of me for later.

She gets up, with her hands still on my stomach and I whisper against her lips "We're pregnant. We're really having a baby."

I let my fears and doubts wash away, for the moment at least, and revel in the feeling of her body pressed against mine. Her lips on my lips, her stomach pressed against mine. We've passed the hurdle, and everything is going to be okay.

**A/N: ****Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I appreciate it so so much. Also, to everyone who has either favourited/followed the story, thank you. I apologize if I've been a bit absent, I've been on vacation and then school again. Also, I'm not the biggest fan of this chapter - I've realize that I'm much better at writing more depressing fanfiction. I still hope you liked it though and I'm looking forward to seeing your responses to this chapter. Keep an eye out for Part 2, which will be updated sometime tomorrow. **

**Also, I want to thank Sydnee, who is a guest reviewer. I'm really flattered that you like my writing and my story. Thank you so much for taking the time out to read and review. I really appreciate your comments! **

**Enjoy, and review! **


	19. Part II: Baby

******A/N: Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic. **

**I apologize in advance for the content, it's a bit heavy. **

**Baby**

The sound of tired breathing reaches my covered ears, the ones trying to block out the noise. The beeping. The static. The breathing. The _silence_.

I can feel my face scrunching as I squeeze my eyes shut. I imagine myself with a deeply wrinkled face, one I should surely have after tonight, but know I won't. The image I conjure scares me. Not the wrinkles, in particular, more so what put them there. The deep pain each deep ridge or hairline wrinkle holds. I imagine myself as one of the older people in movies, the ones who are young but have been weathered by time and pain. My face must be paper white, my cheeks hollow, my wispy hair, placed messily in a bun, scratching at my face with the help of the wind, leaving the wrinkles, each deeper than the last.

An image of Wuthering Heights flutters into my vision.

I choke at the similarity.

Standing in the middle of the moors, dark thundering clouds surrounding me, watching me, hunting me. Wind and rain and thunder and pain.

I screw my eyes tighter and rub them into my arms as the frustration I feel grows.

I'm making a ruckus. I know because she moves. Places a hand on my head, and pets my hair, coaxing me to come out of my bubble, my protective shell.

I unwrap my tangled arms from my tangled hair and uncover my face, looking down into hers.

The slight discoloration of skin, burning paths down her cheeks make me clench my teeth, if only to stop the tears from pooling in my own eyes, threatening to break my protective barrier and follow hers, a jagged path down my face.

They almost do, as hers break through and run down her face, like raindrops falling against a car window. Faster, slower, it's a race see.

I keep still, almost afraid of moving, of comforting her, because I know it isn't enough.

It seems like the end of the world, she tells me.

Maybe it is, I think.

I offer her an apologetic smile instead, though I'm not sure why it's apologetic.

She has a look of concern in her eyes that I dutifully ignore.

I cower away from her steady gaze.

It's like, as cliché as this sounds, the little sparkle in her eyes have just gone out, the fire. And yet, was I expecting it to be there after all this?

It's like she swapped them out for new ones, you know? Like she just ordered new ones, and they popped them in her head while I was out or something.

It's like she just decided she didn't want the counter with the speckles of glitter in it, so she just removed it and ordered a new one while I was gone. Plain old brown, glossy, cold, empty, brown.

I wonder what mine look like.

My hand plays with the edge of the bed sheet. What was supposed to be a comforting blue colour (though it was earlier today, comforting I mean) has turned cold and uninviting. The once soft bed sheets have turned hard and sharp like cardboard, the edges cutting my skin.

The door opens, and I wonder if I've been relieved of my duty.

Instead of the quiet I'd expected, I'm startled with squeaking shoes, walking towards the bed, doing their job, quickly and efficiently.

I should be comforted by the distraction, by the noise, by the movement. I'm not.

I'm startled and restless and I want the silence, the breathing, the beeping, the static.

I don't register the words that are being spoken directly in front of me. I'm not even sure if any of those words were directed at me. I can hear, but I don't process a word of what is being said. This doesn't surprise me.

The closing door reminds me that I'm still on duty; my face remains cold and hard.

The silence becomes deafening. I can _hear _the silence, _so _loud. It fills the air and pushes at my ears trying to get through, fighting to be heard.

I want to yell and scream and tear and claw and push and shout.

I do nothing.

My hands remain by my sides, my fingers halt, my breath hitches, my body becomes rigid. She notices a change and places a comforting hand on my arm. I flinch. Her eyes reflect the hurt she feels, they open up, whispering to me the words I know she would never say.

_ I wish things were different. _

_ We've wanted this for so long_

_ We were __**so**__ close. _

_ I'm disappointed. I'm sad. I'm hurt. I'm __**depressed**__. _

I pull myself away from the unfolding story before me, afraid to turn another page. My eyes squeeze shut in an attempt at rejecting the things I already know to be true.

She sits on the bed next to me and pulls me in.

She expects me to cry. I don't.

She starts to shake, trying to hold back her tears.

My head rests on her chest. Her heart beat drumming into my head, keeping a steady tempo, allowing a positive distraction. They're louder and stronger than the thunderclouds waging war inside my head, whipping my hair to and fro, cutting into my weary face.

_I wish she could have a heartbeat as strong as yours. I wish she could take yours._

I gasp in shock at the thought that burst into my mind. She holds me tighter. I think she's hoping I'll cry; it's better than no reaction at all. And maybe it will make her feel less weak, less affected, _normal. _

I try to focus on her slightly faster heartbeat, but the thoughts push through.

My eyes squeeze shut, once again. I can see spots of lights bursting through the darkness behind my eyes.

My thoughts appear in bursts, white cursive letters flowing in and out and around the black.

I almost think I'll cry then, but the door opens and I swallow my tears and pull myself away from her warm embrace.

Words are exchanged, I can hear them, almost see them, but can't find the ability to organize the letters into words and the words into sentences in my mind.

She stands up from the bed, I make out a thank you. She turns to me, her mouth moves; all I do is blankly stare. I don't make out the words she's saying. She stops, looking at me as if she's expecting an answer. She lets out a huffy sigh and runs a hand up her face and through her hair.

_I know you're frustrated with me. I am too._

She seems to understand, her shoulders deflate and I can see tears glistening in her eyes. I almost feel bad, but can't bring myself to.

The door opens. I blink. I'm in a wheelchair. Again, and I'm out the room. A comforting hand is placed on my shoulder, rubbing, massaging, warning.

We travel a short distance, or perhaps it was longer than I thought. My eyes blink, attempting to wipe away the tears. To my displeasure, tears pool in my eyes and I'm glad we're moving too quickly for anyone to notice. My blinking continues, but my eyelids fail to wipe away the tears, like windshield wipers on a shitty car, leaving streaks of water behind so that all the driver can see is a blurry mess.

We're in front of a closed door; I can hear a voice in the distance, though it's pressed up right against my ear. _Ready_? I nod. I feel a hot breath against my hair where a kiss is placed. The door opens, I'm wheeled in.

The light in the small room glares off the plastic box and into my eyes. I'm wheeled forward, but I push back against the person and am stopped, the rubber tires squeaking noisily against the too clean floor, lighting up the room as if we were at a NASCAR race.

I wave my hand above my head, in an attempt to silence the voice I am sure will disrupt my fantasy of being anywhere but here. A fantasy that is brought to a halt when my eyes become accustomed to the light and refocus on the plastic box in the centre of the room.

I give the okay; I'm wheeled forward slowly. I can feel her tense muscles gripping the chair tightly near my shoulders. I almost wish I could feel her hands gripping my shoulders instead, squeezing the tears out of my tired eyes, clamped nonetheless.

The movement stops, and I can feel her step back, away from me. I can hear her bring a hand up to her mouth and breathe heavily as an attempt to stop the tears from falling.

I imagine what she must be feeling, and try to picture myself feeling the same way. I try to summon tears, looking at the barely there baby encased in the plastic box. I bring a shaking hand up to the barrier. My fingertips press lightly against the cold hard plastic. I press harder, wishing it were air, hoping my fingers will break through.

My palm presses against the plastic measuring the length of my hand to the length of the baby. I win, though only by a little, my hands have always been unusually long. It's barely a victory though, because her size is directly associated with her chance of survival, which, if I had been listening to the doctor, I would have known was slim to none.

Of course, she knows that.

I try to discern what she's doing behind me, if she's watching me, watching her. Or if she has her eyes clamped shut and her hand acting as a barrier to just _shut the noises in_. I tear my eyes away from our little girl and notice a distorted reflection in the plastic case.

Her hands in fists, held tightly against her sides, like a soldier ready to march into battle. Her hard face matches, concentrating on showing no emotion. I can't see her feet from the reflection, but I imagine them to be pointing straight ahead, shoulder width apart.

I imagine her in a uniform, a decorated uniform, marching into battle, maybe the First World War, or the second, maybe. A lieutenant's uniform, yes that would look quite handsome on her. I imagine the badges and medals and awards. I imagine myself falling into her arms after a long journey away from each other. My palm up against her chest, her arms encircling around my waist, holding me, protecting me.

My fingers lightly toying with the badges. Feeling the weight of them against my hand, and imagining how different the weight must feel to her. _Bravery_ she whispers in my ear as I brush my fingers against the largest. A small piece of woven cloth with a circular medal at the bottom. A small prize for a huge sacrifice. The cold seeps into my fingertips as I lift it up away from her suit and cradle it into my palm.

My thumb rubs over the face of its own accord, almost as if it is buffing it clean. I look up at her and my face breaks out into a satisfied smile. She offers me a sad smile back, and I almost regret smiling at all. She pulls me in, pressing her lips against mine. They're cold, but soft and familiar. She presses against me a little harder. With my hands still against her chest, and her medal for bravery clutched between my fingers, stuck within my palm.

My finger pricks the needle holding the medal to her suit and I'm torn out of her comforting embrace and thrown back into reality. My fantasy popped like a bubble by the prick of the needle.

I pull my hand from mid air and rub my fingers against my palm into a small fist. The feeling of the scratchy material of her uniform is still stinging against my skin and I bring my fingers close to my face to examine for blood.

Her voice startles me into comfort, asking if I'm alright. Yes dear, perfectly fine. I don't look back at her, knowing her face will be painted with confusion. Maybe if I had been a better artist, I muse.

She comes up behind me and wraps her arms down from my shoulders and around my body, resting just under my breasts. She leans against my back, her chin finding solace in the crook between my shoulder and neck. I shiver, even as blotches of red travel up my neck and onto my face. Her breath presses onto my skin, white hot, only to be swept away by a chilled air as she inhales. A careful pattern, hot then cold, and I don't know which bothers me most.

Her palm presses up against my stomach, almost it's normal size, rubbing lightly, as we look back into the protective box, past the barrier, and into the eyes of our daughter.

Her eyes, half shut, are brilliant nonetheless. Milk chocolate eyes, laced with flecks of gold stare into me. They flicker, up and down, up and down, steady again, into mine.

_Pretty little thing_ is whispered into my neck, leaving the heat for a little while longer. I hum in agreement.

My thoughts wipe clear from my mind as I take in her little body, little fingers, little nose, lips, eyes, storing the images to be reflected on another day. Only a memory from here on. I take in every little wrinkle, when she blinks, the way her splotchy red face scrunches up and her lips purse.

I think about what had been originally planned for today, or maybe yesterday, as it happens.

We were supposed to be at home, wrapped under our covers, in our warm and soft bed, coming up with names for our baby, not due for another month and a bit. We were supposed to be arguing over who should get up first and make breakfast. About _what_ we should eat for breakfast, who's cravings came first.

I look at the little girl in front of me, something we have wanted for so long, finally here, in front of us, only to be just out of our grasp, and only here for a short while.

Just as I find myself enjoying her comforting embrace, she pulls away and drags a chair to sit next to me. She pulls out a miniature notebook from her pocket with a miniature pen to match, almost suitable for the little girl in the plastic case. She fumbles with the top corner, debating whether she should open it or not. She pulls out the pen, the loud clicks sound like gunshots in the silence of the room. She opens the notebook to a page, a list of names.

I shake my head, no.

Her eyes respond, sadly but surely. _We have to sweetheart, you know that_.

I can feel the tears coming to my eyes then, I nod absentmindedly. _Okay_.

She rambles through the list of names, looking up at me every once and a while, looking for confirmation, waiting for me to shake my head, or smile. I stare at the little girl in front of me, fading before my eyes, and do nothing.

_Anything,_ I whisper, _I don't want to know, not right now_.

She nods and closes her eyes, I almost feel bad, placing that weight on her, having to name our daughter all on her own.

I think about naming my daughter, the implications of that. Naming her so we can write it on her birth certificate, her death certificate, _her gravestone. _

I think about how unfair that is, to us, to her, giving her a name.

The nurse comes in, asks if I want to hold her. The tears almost tumble out of my eyes then, when I realize that she's not going to make it, not at all.

I nod, watching the barrier open, a small whimper escaping my lips.

She's placed into my arms, amidst a sea of blankets, making her almost the size of what a real baby would be. I glide my finger against her plump rosy cheek and smile as she gurgles. I look up just as the nurse is leaving the room, and catch the sad but admiring gaze of my wife.

I lift my arms out to her, giving her permission; she shakes her head and pulls out a camera with a glimpse of hope in her eyes. I nod hesitantly, unsure whether this would be a good idea. I look down into my arms, pulling her against my stomach, holding her close. The flash goes off and I look up in surprise. I smile and a second picture is taken.

I hold my hand out for the camera. I take it as she cradles the baby, cooing into her ear softly. She looks happy. I take a few pictures, knowing they will provide a sense of comfort for her, and then sit back and watch.

I can feel my eyes watering with tears, filling up to the brink before cascading over the edge and dripping down my cheeks.

Our chairs are close, I lean into her, pressing my wet cheek against hers. She pulls back and looks at me in surprise, a sad but relieved look crossing her face. I bring my lips against her now damp cheek and press a lingering kiss, with my forehead leaning against her temple. We stay in the same position for several seconds before I turn my lips to her ear and whisper a name.

She looks at me, scrutinizing my expression, my eyes, _are you sure?_ I nod. She smiles.

She switches her gaze to the bundle in her arms and says the name out loud. Our daughter's eyelids droop in response, almost happily, as I lean against my wife, savouring our time together.

#

We emerge from the hospital doors into the cool air. Flashes surround us instantly; I don't cover my face, my expression, my pain. My face feels tight from the residue of the few tears that spilled down my face. A hand is placed on my shoulder, it squeezes lightly as I pray that my tears will be kept at bay.

I almost wish we could go back in and stay for a little while longer, the place that was so cold and so painful, now feels warm, peaceful and calm. I'm wheeled up to the waiting vehicle, the flashes almost blinding me. The people are clawing at each other, pushing through the barrier, fighting to get a picture of the mother who just lost her baby.

I struggle to feel anything but the gut-wrenching pain ripping through my heart. I struggle to feel _anger_ at the disrespectful people, at God, at _**me**_.

I feel nothing.

**Reviews would be cool. To let me know what you think, and to let me know what you want to see for the next chapter perhaps? Or if you want to help me name her? I know there are people reading the story, so review. Throw in some suggestions and let me know, I'm looking forward to hearing your responses. **


	20. Part III: Shoes

**Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic**

**A/N: Wow this is fucking late and I apologize. I did put a lot of thought into this though and there are a few tricks and patterns that probably nobody is going to get but whatever. The numbers I used are actual statistics (except for a few minor changes that I used to give you guys hints - patterns remember?). Anyways, I referenced a ****book (as usual), pulled a direct quote too, anybody know what it is? **

**Apparently there was some confusion for the last two parts, the pregnant wife is Selena, Demi is not pregnant. To avoid confusion this time, this is in Demi's POV and she's writing a blog post. **

**Shoes**

2/26/17

Ernest Hemingway once wrote a story composed of only 6 words.

For Sale:

Baby Shoes.

Never worn.

I have never felt the weight of those words, until now. Last month, my wife and I lost our baby. Last month, today exactly. Last month, today, in an hour. And if you're reading this as soon as I send it off, last month, today, now. Right now.

Does it make me a masochist that I noted the exact time our daughter took her last breath?

Down to the second.

Or does that make me concise and rational?

Because when that second has passed, it's over. The moment doesn't last the whole day, the pain is there for the beginning half, and then, in one second, it's over. Not the pain, no, but the moment, it's just over.

And that second, well, it's not longer than the rest, but sometimes it feels like it. Sometimes my breath flutters out of my body, right on time, with my heart pounding in my ears, and my fingertips going numb, it feels like I might die then too. I hold my breath and count and count and count. One, two, three, four, **nine**, ten, twelve, twenty, fourty, one. And I really start to feel light-headed then, because my lungs start to burn, and my throat pulsates and I can feel my body start to panic. I start to get light headed and numb and so I close my eyes and imagine what it would feel like to be on all the drugs in the world, to be out of my mind, even for a little bit.

Then I remind myself that I am out of my mind and I walk back to our room, crawl into bed, and find her crying.

#

She was so strong at first, she held me up. And then we came home, and she crumbled, and now I'm supposed to be the strong one. But, see, I don't know how to be there for her, I don't know how to be strong or courageous or happy enough for her. I don't know what to say when she cries at night, or when she cries during the day.

We're never taught how to deal with things like this. Not in school, not by our parents. Maybe, this is something that can't be taught. Maybe this is something that needs to be experienced…and, dare I say it, learned from. But learn what? Our strength? I don't see much strength from where I'm standing.

Do you know what I see?

#

Every day I find my body becoming aware of the time. The dread in my stomach builds up and explodes just at the right time, like a precise alarm, shocking me from my precarious sense of ease, from my sleep.

I'm not sure the saying 'Time heals all wounds' applies here though, or anywhere really. Because what I'm feeling _can't_ be healed. Pain can't just be erased, not like this. It's not a physical wound that can be mended; I can feel it in my heart, in my bones, in my nerves, rushing through my blood.

It's the tiniest of things that stir me, like an eagle coming every day and pecking at my liver, only for it to regenerate for the next day. It's like a sick cycle, and you know what the thing about cycles is? You never get the chance to pull yourself out of one, or two, or three.

Or that's what it seems like, doesn't it? Like this is never going to end.

But, this isn't something that can kill me. Regardless of how utterly _crippling _the pain is; it can't kill me, or her.

It may just kill us though, and that's the saddest part.

We're so wrapped up in our own minds, I can't be there for her and she can't be there for me. And yet, she's all I have, and I'm all she has. And I'm scared. I'm terrified of what will happen to us because of what has happened.

#

We've lost, we've both lost, but I'm not sure how much more I can lose. But even if I lose her, and even if the pain gets worse, I'm stuck here and forced to deal with it. There's no way out from the pain. _There's no way out._

I don't understand that. I don't understand how I can still live through all the pain. And yet I can and I will.

I think it's less about time healing, because time doesn't heal. I think we just get desensitized to the situation. We get used to feeling the pain over and over again, and somehow we become okay again, or at least I hope.

#

I remember learning in school about a murder investigation and how the defense got a guilty man off death row. The man videotaped the murders he committed, so his defense lawyer played them to the jury, over and over and over again. The first time the jury saw it, they were horrified and were ready to name him guilty, to sentence him to death. But after a while, after seeing the video so many times, the jury was desensitized from the horrible murder the guilty man committed, and were able to see past it and focus on the details, the background. To move on.

That's sort of what this is like, isn't it? The pain is present every second of every day, and the pain doesn't lessen, but your body and your mind gets used to the feeling of it. The crippling pain no longer cripples you, but that doesn't mean it lessens in any way.

I don't want my pain to go away, because I don't want to feel the guilt that comes with that, with not feeling the pain of losing your daughter. The guilt of not remembering for just one day.

This is what I mean by a cycle. I don't want the pain to go away, but I want it to go away. And I want to take it away from her. But I _can't_.

#

I've been sulking around my house for an entire month waiting for the pain to go away, convincing myself that if I stay here long enough it will just fade away.

I've convinced myself that I have no control over what I'm feeling, what she's feeling. And yet, nothing has gotten better. So I must have some sort of control over this, I must have control over _me_.

It feels like I'm the only one that this has ever happened to, that it's impossible for someone to feel this much pain. But I know I'm not, and I know people must feel worse, but that doesn't make me feel any _better_.

#

I don't even have to tell you name, those of you reading this will read it regardless. You're reading it because of shared experiences, because you've experienced loss. So have I, and yet _I _feel like an intruder.

Just because people know my name, my situation suddenly becomes even more tragic. And yet, there are people, mothers, couples, who go through this every single day. They're not recognized, not like me.

Is the pain they're feeling less significant than mine? Is it okay for_ them_ to hide in their homes for an entire month without fearing any consequences? Is it okay for me to speak about my pain and ignore _theirs_?

Why is my situation deemed so much more _remarkable_ than theirs?

If nobody speaks of remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable?

#

A month ago today, **9 **minutes and **29** seconds ago… right _now_… my daughter died. Maybe I read a little faster than you do, maybe a little slower. But can you feel the weight of the words when you read them? The weight that I feel as I write them.

There are approximately 13 million premature babies born in the United States, and over 1 million of those babies die every year. That means that approximately 53.49 premature babies die each _month_ in the United States. That's 2.29 babies every hour.

Why is mine so significant? Why is my daughter's death more important than anyone else's? Why is it that it's okay for me to take my time and grieve, but other's don't have the luxury to do that?

#

It's been one month, and the weight of these tiny baby shoes feels heavy in the palm of my hand. I'm sure I could go on eBay and sell these for lots of money with our names attached. Because, who wouldn't want the shoes of a celebrities dead daughter?

She told me to get rid of them, throw them away, give them away to someone who _needs_ them. I told her I did. But, what if _I _need them?

They've been hidden in a box in our garage with all the other things I couldn't bear to just give away. The weight of the lie hangs heavy in my chest and drops like a boulder into my gut every time I see her eyes fill with tears.

My pain is real, so is hers, and so is yours. And all we can really do is feel it, really feel it.

#

I'm going to speak of the remarkable things that happen every day, the things we overlook, the insignificant. The things that people don't recognize or care to think about or speak about. Just because they're insignificant, just because they're overlooked, doesn't make them any less remarkable.

These little shoes, they're remarkable, and I'm not giving up.


	21. Breasts

******A/N: Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic. **

**This is incredibly personal, but I hope you like it. I apologize in advance if any parts don't make sense or anything, because I had a really hard time trying to get out of my head to write this. **

**I wrote this to 'Hungarian Rhapsody' by Franz Liszt. And it has nothing to do with the fic, but it's a fantastic piece and really sets the mood well for it. So if you wanna get the full experience, I suggest you listen to the song while reading. If you don't like classical music, then don't. **

**Enjoy. **

Breasts

I remember the first day I realized you were a woman, and I mean a full-blown woman. I know it didn't happen overnight, I'd seen you every day before then. But it just sort of hit me, two big breasts shoved right into my line of sight, and I haven't known what to do since then.

I remember the shock, because I've seen breasts before, my mum has breasts, my sister has them, that voluptuous woman we make fun of at the supermarket has _big_ breasts, hell, my dad even has breasts. And more importantly, _**I**_have breasts.

I remember coming home that day, after noticing the distinct new, but not so new, curve on your body. I took my shirt off and looked in the full-length mirror, and tried to understand why I felt so attracted to you, to your breasts. I poked and prodded and lifted and squished them together until they started to ache, nothing. They were nothing special. Not on me. But on you…

And I chalk it up to me being young, but I remember going to my sister and asking her about them, about what that meant, growing breasts, growing up, having _feelings_.

She laughed, told me I was going through puberty. She said _You'll find the right boy soon enough. Just you wait and see. _

I laughed with her, and agreed, then walked away. I was meant to feel at ease, but I was left confused and frustrated, and I didn't quite know why. And I'm not sure I knew that what I was feeling back then wasn't _normal_. I thought the confusion and frustration was a part of growing up, I thought it came with "liking boys" and with growing breasts.

So my breasts, and hers, became a symbol of growing up. A symbol of my confusion and frustration and a strange attraction that I knew was meant to be for the boys with their puffed out chests, saggy pants, and trucker hats.

It's like, everywhere I went breasts followed me, whether I turned left or right, they were always there. Some covered, some flaunted, some big, really big, and some small. But none quite as appealing as yours. And as I continued to notice them more and more, my confusion faded away but my discomfort and frustration grew.

And I remember talking about gays with you, and you brushed it off like it wasn't a big deal. _They're human after all, right?_ You'd said. I remember you got angry with me that day, when I tried to tell you that it was wrong, and it made me wonder about you. I was so insistent about it that you slammed your hand down on my wooden desk. I watched the pens roll off the edge and onto the floor; they reflected the tears that streamed over the edge of my eyes as you yelled.

I imagine a waterfall of tears falling over my eyes and down my face, as yours grows red. Then your breath catches in your threat, you let out a strangled sound and bend down next to me, murmuring your apologies and wiping at my face gently. Sometimes I even go as far as imagining your lips pressed against my cheek, or my temple, like in the romance movies.

I don't remember how it actually happened. I think it's one of those moments that my brain purposely made fuzzy, one of many. I don't think my body would be able to handle replaying that moment over and over, watching your eye twitch (I'm assuming, from earlier, less harsh, experiences) and your mouth form awful words that you spit out at my reddening face. So my brain just clouded over the memory, and refused to let me see the truth, you. Refused to let me see you.

But you stormed out, left me on my own. My pens and pencils stayed on the floor for a week before you came back. I remember that moment clearly, too clearly. Clearly enough for me to question whether my mind was playing tricks on me. The way your eyes flickered to the pens on the floor, to the container that held them, half hidden under the shadow of my desk. And I really couldn't tell you what emotion flashed through your eyes then, because I'd never been good at reading people like you have. I couldn't even tell you if that flicker in your eye was real, or whether it was the sun catching you perfectly right then.

But that flicker in your eyes, that _dangerous_ flicker has stuck with me right on through it all, and maybe _that_ was the turning point I'd been searching for. Or maybe it wasn't, maybe not at all.

You must have thought it better to let the whole situation slide, because you were yourself with me again. It took me a while to become comfortable with you again. I was always weary to touch you; I was always so god damn scared of seeing that flicker in your eyes again. I watched what I said, because, well I'm not sure why. You made me feel uncomfortable, in the most comfortable way, and since I noticed you had breasts, since I realized why I _cared_ you had breasts, things between us changed.

I found myself getting increasingly angrier when we fought, because you had this control over me, and I don't know how your nails sank so deep underneath my skin. I don't know when they sank into my heart, and I didn't know how to pry them out without causing any damage.

#

How can you say for sure that you've fallen in love?

Perhaps it's one of those many moments when you look at the object of your affection and smile without knowing it. Or, when you receive a 'good morning' text and you fall back onto your bed with a face eating smile and think _God I love this girl_. Because I really do.

Maybe it's when you realize you can't stop touching her or teasing her whenever you sit together. Or maybe it's the fact that you can't stop thinking about her at all, despite the more pressing matters that should be at the top of your mind.

Maybe it's slightly simpler than that. Maybe it's the way your heart beats irregularly whenever you're around her. Maybe it's the fact that you couldn't look her in the eye for an entire month before you told her. Maybe it's the way you ramble and spew out pathetic lines that sound good in your head but are utterly repulsive once they've escaped your lips. Maybe you just know you love her.

And you know, I knew.

#

I remember your birthday party, a small little get together, maybe 20 people in the basement of your house. Your parents were gone, and I wasn't meant to sleep over, but I did. I remember calling my parents to convince them to let me stay over with you. I remember the slurring and the sputtering and the uselessness of my numb lips and swollen tongue. When they said okay, I remember feeling ecstatic that they let me stay, that I got away with being drunk off my ass and not able to form a sentence. Looking back, I know they knew I had been drinking, and maybe it would have been better if they had come to pick me up.

You lent me a pair of really short pajama shorts and a baggy shirt, and you crawled in next to me, in the single bed; pressed up right against me. There was a slight glow to your room, and I could see the outline of your face, my own reflected in your eyes.

I don't remember what I said to you that night, not all of it. I don't remember going to sleep, maybe for an hour, two would be pushing it. We talked a lot. You treated me so gently that I forgot about the flicker in your eye. You asked me why I was always so upset all the time. I didn't think I could put into words what you made me feel then.

We were lying on the bed facing each other, with our legs tangled and our intertwined hands in between our breasts. My thumbs pressed against my chest, and my pinkies brushed yours. I'd never felt so vulnerable in my life; you took the fight right out of me. I deflated under your stare and I remember stuttering out something about wanting somebody to love me. And it was pathetic, so very pathetic of me to say that to you then. I think one of my greatest fears was to be deemed pathetic by you, and that's so incredibly pathetic in and out of itself. You looked at me with what I now know to be pity, and smiled, _you will someday_, you said.

I can't and don't blame my response on the alcohol I consumed that night, because they are in no way related. It was my own stupid tongue that let loose my feelings, and it was yours that coaxed them out of their cage.

_I think I have_. I slowly draw out my words and my eyes shy away from your questioning gaze. You urge me to explain, you're excited to find out a piece of information about me that you hadn't already known. I look up and see your expectant face, your slightly worried brows coupled with an encouraging smile.

_Well_, I said. And paused, because it didn't happen all at once. Plenty more urging, more encouraging. _I think I may like…_ Pause. And the pause lasts quite a bit of time as I untangle my hands from yours and pull my head down, my forehead leaning against your chest. I wish I felt your heart beat pick up, I wish I heard it thumping loudly, I didn't. But I didn't register that then either. I forced a few stubborn tears out of the corners of my eyes as you hugged me, and I felt the heat of you overwhelm me, your smell suffocated me.

_You_. I whispered. And I thought that maybe you didn't hear. I thought that maybe I didn't make myself clear enough, because I was certain. I clarified. _I like you_. And then I was sure you heard me that time.

A quickly exhaled breath fluttered against the top of my head and you pulled me in a little closer. _Oh sweetheart_, you said, _no_.

And then my brain did the curious fog thing again. I don't remember what you said after that. But I remember waking up the next morning, with you by my side. I remember the tension as you woke up and told me good morning. I remember hugging my bare legs to my chest and crying a bit, but not really. It was like my heart didn't really hurt, and I wasn't sure why, because when I went home the next day it hurt, and the day after that.

You called me, telling me it was all right, that we would be friends, that you weren't going to leave me for something as silly as a crush. And things almost went back to normal then, except not really. Because I became obsessed with winning you over. A thought infected my mind. It told me that maybe you liked me back, that maybe this could work, that maybe you weren't as straight as you claimed to be.

That's the problem with hope, isn't it? It gives you something miniscule to keep going, and tears away at you every time things don't work out like you god damn _hoped_. And boy did I hope. That prevented me from letting go, but I don't think you wanted to let me go anyways. You were always selfish in that respect.

We talked, I flirted, and I tried to woo you with songs and poems and declarations of love. Sometimes you flirted back, and sometimes you derailed all my progress with one look, one sigh, with the flick of your tongue. But I persevered, and I think that's the most I've worked at accomplishing something in my entire life.

I promised to make you happy, but I didn't realize that love didn't work that way, that I couldn't just make you happy even though I wanted to with all my heart.

#

Do you remember our sleepover? In March. We were sitting in the stairwell, I had you stuck in the corner, and we talked. We talked about my feelings and yours, and you took a shot of rum, I politely declined. I was sick that day, slightly runny noise, I'd been sneezing, you'd been laughing at me. And we were falling all over each other.

And I don't know what led up to it, but we were close, and your lips were hovering just over mine, my head lolling against my shoulder, my face looking towards yours.

_You can't tell me you don't want to kiss me right now. _I whispered.

I could feel the static. And that's a weird way of explaining the tension surrounded us. _I do_, you whispered. My lips tingled with anticipation and I nearly passed out when you just sat there, staring at me. And I pulled away, because I really couldn't handle you looking at me right then.

I dropped my head, my chin leaning against my chest, and this was important wasn't it? Because then you wrapped an arm around my back, placed two fingers under my chin, and pressed your lips against mine. And it's fuzzy again, but I remember feeling like I was going to die, but I wanted to stay like that forever. And I pulled away and starting crying, because it felt like my heart was breaking, and I told you that. So you kissed me again. And again. And then once more. For four.

#

I realized why the pain was present during the kiss. It was the weirdest feeling, like my heart was going to break. But it wasn't the kiss; it was what would happen after that scared me. What would have been said, what would have been taken back. It was the aftermath that scared me the most, because that sort of decided everything, it was a turning point. Or I thought it would be. I broke down after and you asked me why. I guess that's why. I told you I felt like my heart was breaking, because I'd never before felt that kind of emotion rise in my chest and suffocate me like that. It was an overwhelming feeling of emotion that I couldn't handle all at once. It was painful because it was too much; it was like somebody lit a firecracker that let out massive lead bubbles that floated from my stomach, up to my chest and into my throat, with the intention of choking me. And they did just that.

And you said you'd let me take you on a date, and I had everything planned. I brainstormed for hours; I bought tickets to the museum, and to the outdoor movie theatre an hour out of town. But then you changed your mind, the day before; _we're better off as friends_. My parents brought me to the hospital the next day, that day.

Then we weren't friends at all. Do you remember?

And I still loved you. All the way through it.

#

Sometimes it smells like you. When I'm walking in the street. In random buildings, random hallways. My car.

Sometimes it smells just like you.

Sometimes I want to puke and choke and block my nose from smelling.

Sometimes it's nice, just when things smell like you.

Because it's like you're right next to me, and I can be happy. But then I remember that the happiness you can give me really isn't worth much, or anything at all. It's cheap and false and toxic.

And sometimes I just want to bottle up the smell and bring it home with me. Because I've gotten accustomed to corresponding that smell with bliss, happiness, love. And sometimes I don't know what to do without that.

I'm not sure if I want to hug you, or just hug the way you smell. And I'm not sure how to recreate that feeling, I think that's what hurts.

It's just a silly little reminder.

It was just a silly little crush right? Silly little me.

And then I get really fucking angry. Because I want to concentrate on my work, on my reading, on my thoughts, whatever I'm doing and _not _your god damn smell.

Sometimes I wonder if it really smells like you at all. If I can remember what you really smell like. Because it wasn't a perfume, no. It was a mixture of smells. It was your perfume, your laundry detergent, the body soap you use, your shampoo, your conditioner. It's the smell your skin gives off.

It's all these together that make you smell like you. And what I smell is only parts of you. That frustrates me. Because maybe I want to smell _all _of you. And maybe I don't. Maybe I can't.

I relied on you so much. As if you were the cure to all my problems. And that was the problem really. I let you control my life. I let you control what I was feeling, and when I was feeling it. I let you control my mind. Your words, your actions, they all meant so much to me. And every time I felt I was moving on, the smallest thing you said or did derailed all of my precarious progress.

And it's not fair that I'm sitting here, two years later, thinking about the major impact you have had on my life. While you're there, and you won't remember me in a years time. You'll forget my name. And yet I'll always know you. You'll always be there at the major points in my life. Because you took so much from me, so much out of me, and left me with nothing to hold on to.

When I get married, you'll be there. When I have kids, you'll be there. Why? Because the first time I've imagined myself truly falling in love and getting married was with you. You were supposed to be the game changer for me. But I was not the game changer for you.

And sometimes when I'm walking past a rack of magazines, there's a picture of you on the cover, you and your breasts.

_I found myself wondering about the new lovers I'd have._

_The ones that'd come after you._

_And the way I would lay down next to them and talk about you._

_About the battles I fought, the battles I won. Lost._

_About the obstacles you threw at me each step of the way._

_I'd talk about how I'd overcome them all,_

_And how you led me to now, to me, to them._

_And I imagine myself a long ways away, without you on my doorstep._

_Another scent on my pillow, not quite so nauseatingly floral._

_And then I wonder how often I'll repeat the process._

_And how it will change every time I do._

_And when I'll finally stop. _

_When there will be no need for you._

* * *

**And review maybe? **


	22. Out

******A/N: Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic. **

**********This is really long, and dark, and not so pleasant. This goes well with a very very very short piano piece called "Distant Everyday Memories". I suggest you go on yourepeat and listen to it while reading. It really does go well with it. I hope you enjoy, I worked really hard on this one. **

**Out**

Maybe I want my parents to hate me for being gay, because maybe then I would have a justifiable reason to hate myself. A reason to get _out_ of this hellhole. But all I've got is two loving and supporting parents and I can't for the life of me figure out what's wrong in this poisoned head of mine.

There's something controversial about people having too much. Too much money, too much wealth, too much happiness. Too much equipment to work with. Versus, say, having just the right amount, or too little. And maybe that's why my parents thought it was okay that I turned out being gay. Because there wasn't too much. In my case, there wasn't enough. And there's something comforting about people having less than you. Because maybe then they're not a threat. Versus someone who has too much. Too much pleasure. Too full. Too good. That scares people. Because we're so consumed with getting more and more and more than everyone else. This is something that comes natural; some people are just naturally blessed with getting more than others. And that's not okay, because it removes everyone's "hard work" and chalks it up to being "born this way".

So, maybe that's why it's okay, maybe that's why it's easier for me than it would have been for my cousin, brother, friend. But, you know, maybe I didn't want it to be easier. Maybe I didn't want to be kicked _out_. Out of the closet, out of your life. And, maybe this would have been a good excuse for feeling the way I do.

#

Why is it that every thought that flutters through my mind is about how damn worthless and useless I am? Why is it that _I'm_ sick, when I have nothing to be sick for? Why don't I get to have a reason? Why is it that every time people ask me why I'm so fucking depressed I don't have a better answer than just _because. _Because I am. Maybe it would be easier if I had a reason. And if I had a reason for being the way I am, maybe it would be easier to get help and get better. But I don't know.

That's the thing with these things, you just never really know. Because we've got what we've got and there's no way we have a chance of ever escaping that.

So maybe I want you to yell and scream and kick my guts in. Because maybe then my brain could rest for just a split second. Because then my body would reflect the chaos and _pain _in my mind. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad then, it would all be let out.

#

That's what we do though right? As humans, we wish for the things we truly do not and cannot have. We always want something that isn't ours. Because what we have simply isn't satisfying enough. And maybe I write to fill that. To fill the holes in my life that reality simply cannot fulfill. And maybe there's something beautiful in that. In living in a fantasyland, when reality really doesn't live up to par.

But maybe it's tragic – knowing that reality will never be enough for me – will never satisfy me the way fantasies do. But then, fantasy isn't all that satisfying either is it? Because as much as we try to bend and twist time through fantasy, it always ends up catching up to you in the end. And the fantasy is left forgotten on the pages of an abandoned notebook. The words precariously scratched and scrawled onto the surface, barely readable, barely even there. And that's what fantasy is, it's barely there – so unreachable, so untouchable. It taunts you with its luxury and flourishes and haunts you with its unwavering presence – only to remain _just _out of reach.

And I always talk about twisted cycles, the twisted cycles we bear with on this twisted earth. So here's another one to add to your list.

Reality is never enough – it has holes and rips and tears. Fantasy fills the holes right up, covers them with patchwork cloth and makes it almost new. Then reality comes crashing right through once again, only to tear you apart at the seams, only to rip out the fragile pieces of patchwork only fantasy could ever provide.

And maybe I write because I want someone to _listen_ to what I'm saying for once, and care enough to read it. Because why am I so much less significant than everybody else on the planet? And why do I feel so pathetic even saying that?

#

Why are solutions never as clear-cut as they taught us in school? If Jimmy had 8 apples and ate 3, how many did he have left? Four. If Jimmy had 8 apples and ate 10, where did the other two apples come from? And did Jimmy get a stomachache? Did his acid rise, like mine surely would have? Did he eat the seeds? And if he did would he die of cyanide poisoning? And is 10 not enough? Should the question have said 50 instead?

#

I overheard a conversation between two women sitting next to me in a restaurant. Vivian and Maria, say. Maria was eating a kale and seaweed salad. Vivian had a little baby girl. They were talking about a mutual friend who was pregnant and would "give birth any day now". And that was it. The conversation buzzed onto another topic and the pregnant woman who would be giving birth any day now was forgotten.

This event was so insignificant in their lives, but to the woman that was pregnant, that soon to be born child was the most important thing in the world. And it's fascinating that something so important to one person is so insignificant to another.

Maybe that's what it was like for you and I.

I wonder how many of _my_ conversations have spilled over into someone else's radar. And did it tumble and trip over itself, or did it glide and flow smoothly? And that's important isn't it?

How many times have I been called an idiot for what I've said to someone I've known? And how many times have I called someone an idiot and rolled my eyes at them for saying the exact same thing? I've never realized the miniscule interactions we have with everyone on a daily basis. And maybe something I said might have upset them, or even made them happy. And I wouldn't even know. I wouldn't have seen their face; crumble like ruins, or inflate into a balloon, full of hot air.

It's terrifying to me that we can have an impact, no matter how small, on people we don't even know. Faces we won't remember in a minute.

How many times have I insulted someone based on what they wear? And how many times has someone done the exact same to me? And we foolishly throw a perfectly good person away, like they're nothing, based on what they're wearing or what they're saying. And that's not at all okay to do, but it's become like second nature for a generation (and many many before) mostly concerned with material looks.

But there's nothing we can do to stop that. We can argue it is part of our human nature, and cast the thoughts aside. Move on with our simple living and look beyond the complicated. The complicated that demands you to see it, demands you to analyze, and then leaves you scatter brained and afraid. Because that's what makes it all okay right? Going back to the simple, ignoring everything that will make our lives harder than they already are. And that may not be okay, but it's certainly acceptable. And maybe _that's _the problem.

#

I'm going to pull a Humbert-Humbert. I'm going to write and write and write and write until my tiny little heart can't take it anymore. And if you don't know H-H, then go, become acquainted with him, then return, and maybe that'll give me enough time, because it's all about _time. _

And maybe this will be published, and maybe there will be a foreword from a doctor explaining the need for parents to _watch out for their children_ – for teenagers. Because they're quite unreliable, impressionable, foolish, and rash. Right?

#

I offer the people in my life my work – to read it, to read me, to see what I'm like. But nobody has the _time. _Nobody has the _time _to make the _time_. And I try to tell myself that it's not because they don't care. But it's my goddamn toxic mind that morphs my thoughts and poisons them with disease, every way I turn. And if you're reading this, you've somehow made the time for me in your busy schedule.

But you know that saying too little too late?

Too little too late.

Maybe it's been sitting on your doorstep before you found it, and when you saw your name with my handwriting I bet you faltered, inhaled a dangerous breath, placed a hand to your heart. Or a trembling hand covering your mouth to block the sigh fighting to escape from your o-shaped lips.

And maybe I'm letting my imagination get the best of me again. Because I'm sure it stayed on your desk under piles and piles of unopened letters, and you haven't found it at all.

Maybe that was my point. Maybe that was my intention after all.

Maybe one of your lapdogs found the letter, the ones you pay to read, reply, and even sign the damned things.

And I wonder if it happened before or after. And if you're reading this now, are you angry with me? Angry that my words are like traps and your feet keep getting caught at every other step you take. Am I catching you off guard? Do you imagine me mocking you through the letter? Through the thin paper veiled between you and me. The veil between my words and your eyes.

And are you scared of what will come next? Do I scare you now like I scared you then, and was it worth it at all?

Is it all just a cruel joke? I bet you're asking yourself that now. Am I joking?

Fuck. No.

#

I use the word "and" a lot to start sentences. And I think it's because every single thing I've said is a continuation of what I've said previously. And that's sort of how life works too isn't it? You continue where you left off, except in life there aren't any periods or punctuation. There are no pauses, maybe only to breathe, and even then, not really.

I haven't been able to breathe in years. And the period at the end of that sentence gave me a chance to breathe. But my thoughts haven't stopped racing and my heart hasn't stopped aching and my breath hasn't stopped coming and everything is just a continuation of the last. Until there's a pause. Pause. Seriously, pause.

And I don't think you know where I'm going with this, I don't think you really care, I don't think it really matters. But, see, it's like, the more I write down on this page, the more of me that I'll leave behind. And what wasn't read before will be read in full now. Because you won't be able to put the pages down until you've reached the very end. Because you want to know what I'm going to say. You're curious what the ending is going to be like. Curiosity killed the cat, didn't it?

Because we, as humans, have this weird fascination with leaving things behind. As if we _mattered_. As if what we've done and said is significant and that the people reading will actually _care_. As if, the world should have stopped spinning when my world stopped spinning, because it's so earth shattering that surely someone else must have felt it too.

You know that and I know that.

And this is my only chance to finally get you to listen to what I'm saying for once. This is the final chance I'll have to make you pay attention. And maybe it's because I want you to be brave enough to love me back, now at the very least. Maybe it's because I want you so desperately to fall back in love with me, and this is the only way I can do that. And maybe it's because I've been so tired of being ignored by you that I wanted to make you listen to me for once. And I know you weren't expecting this from me, not now. And I know that I'm far too late. And you know that _you're _far too late. This is just my last ditch attempt. Pathetic, isn't it?

And I thought that maybe if I showed you the real me, maybe you could love me again. Maybe what we had wasn't doomed to fail. And I know I've made mistakes and I know I've done wrong by you, but I really wanted to do better by you. And I _know _this isn't the way to do it and I _know _this doesn't work. I _know _this isn't fair to you. But, I don't know what else there is for me to do. I don't know who else to be but me. And I know that's never been enough, because my insides were supposed to inflate like a balloon in the womb in order for this to work.

And I _know _how pathetic this is. I know it but I can't help it. Because I've always been pathetic when it came to you. But I don't know how else to be. And I don't know how to make this okay. Because I'm out and you're out and I'm on my way _out_.

#

I can't quite put into words what the purpose of this is, even though I've outlined several reasons throughout this long-winded letter to you. But none of them quite fit. And I'm not talking about why I've done what I've done. I mean, why am I writing this letter? What's the point of it all?

Part of me would like to think it's because I just can't let go of you, I can't let go of the possibility of us. Even though that's what I'm inadvertently doing right? By doing this I'm doing that.

I just want you, someone, to read what I'm writing and fucking care. But not just someone. No, I want _you_ to read this because it's all for you. And I don't know what that fucking _means._ And that is so fucking pathetic of me.

But I really can't help myself. Because I want you to read this and to care, because I don't like feeling so insignificant, and nobody has really caught up to where you've gotten. You've set up roadblocks. They're peppered throughout my brain, inscribed in my personality, fucking _scrawled_ into my penmanship.

I don't know what a person's heartbeat feels like, 'cause all I've ever felt was yours. Underneath my fingertips. Drumming. Drum drum drum da dum. I've got it memorized. Like the feeling of your fingertips trailing up my spine. Pausing every time they catch each bump going up up up. 24. I count every time. I've always been fond of the times when you missed one, purposely skipped one or two. And you'd catch my eye, smile, flick your finger down one, two, count, then continue on up.

I spent a few days with my new boy toy after you left. I couldn't handle being with him after two. The thought of spending more than a week with someone else made me sick to my stomach. That's why I'm never going to get married. Hah.

And now I know how you felt.

And these are the sorts of things that I really can't forget, because they're me. You're me.

#

I try to micromanage every aspect of my life. But nothing ever seems to fall in place because I have you raging away in my head and you never ever stop. So maybe it's my turn to rage away in yours, and maybe that's cruel and selfish and spiteful, but maybe I want someone to feel the same pain I've been feeling this entire time. And maybe I want the person who caused me the most pain to feel what it feels like to be me. What it felt like I suppose.

You were right, I am a spiteful person, but I'm not the one that has to suffer because of that flaw, am I?

#

And I wish that you would have come running to my door, because you sensed something was wrong, and you stopped me at the very last second, right in the nick of time, and then we wouldn't be in this mess and maybe everything would be alright.

But even as I write this, even as I'm coming to a close, I know it's not enough. I know I'm not enough. And I sincerely apologize for that.

I know how twisted and cruel this is. I know what this sounds like. I know it seems like I'm blaming you. And maybe part of me is. But this part of me isn't. This part of me just wants you to love me like you did before Mummy and Daddy found out. Before you went away and before you started hating me. Because you made me hate you, and I hate myself for hating you. Because as much as I hate you, I just can't _hate _you.

#

Sometimes there's just too much pain and dark in my head and I have to get it _out _somehow.

I imagined doing it on the subway. I rode it all day that day. Just to see what it'd be like. I remember standing in the very first car and looking into the dark tunnel. The train was moving quickly, and I could almost feel it vibrating underneath my feet. The window would sometimes reflect the people sitting behind me. Sometimes I would catch someone's weird looks. That look in their eyes when they _know_ you're something crazy.

And I walked around with my eyes wide, like I was in awe. Because I _was_ in awe. I was in awe of all the people walking around. Boarding and leaving and walking down through the station, up the stairs, and gone. I was fascinated with the way they could just keep on going like that, while my limbs were so useless.

I could see the tracks, silver metal, reflecting into my eyes. The wheels toppling over the tracks, shivering over them, almost afraid. I struggled to understand which one was in control. The tracks or the train. The tracks control the direction, keeps the train on _track_. But the train controls the speed, whether to start or stop or race on through. And I wondered which one I was. The tracks or the train.

I came to the conclusion that I was neither, and I didn't know where exactly that left me. I imagined myself just opening the door and falling over.

Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can feel the way I felt then.

And you know, that _almost there_ on the subway? That was enough for a while. Until it wasn't. And I needed some other kind of high to get me through it all. I think this one was my last hurrah.

How does it feel to bare witness to the last words I'll ever write? The last words I've ever written. Do you feel special enough now? Is that enough for you?

#

You really can't trust anyone with your happiness. Because they could never take care of it like you can. And most times they don't really care. And maybe it's because they just don't know. And that's okay too. But my happiness is the most precious thing I've got, how can I simply let someone control that? How could I _let_ you control that part of me?

How can I leave the one thing that I hold most dear so vulnerable? This is one of my ultimate flaws. I brag about never letting people in and being so strong. But my heart tethers itself to every disastrous person I come across. And once it's there, I can't cut that tie. I don't know how to once it's there, tied tight, one end looped around my heart, and the other around your pinky finger.

So I give you the power to control my heart. To control me. All with the slightest twist, turn, and tug of your littlest finger. Like a kite soaring high in the air. Except you've got me in a cage, a heavy iron cage, and you've got me twisting and turning at your every whim. But you still manage to keep me floating, until the direction of the wind changes and I'm charging back to the ground again. Only for you to catch me once more. Another twisted cycle.

And I use the word 'you'. But there really isn't just one you. Because it's all of you. There are hundreds of knots and loops tied tight around my heart, looped around hundreds of tiny fingers. And you've all got me going different ways. You've got me turning this way. Halting. Then turning the next. And sometimes I slip through the cracks of your fingers, and find solace in another, only to be tugged and torn just like before.

I remember when my parents bought me a kite when I was younger. It was red and I spent hours trying to get it to fly. It wouldn't. I finally let the older boy across the street try it out for me. And it worked. It worked for a few minutes; a few runs up and down the street. And just before it reached my outstretched fingers, the tree on our lawn grasped it first.

Its long claws grabbed hold of it and ripped the plastic deep into the arms of the tree, pulling it right into the bosom. It stayed there for years. Sometimes I would look up and see a flash of red when all the leaves had fallen. And over time I watched the wind and rain weather the kite. Slowly losing its colour, slowly fading away. Melted, caved in, wet, mucky, scrunched. Falling over the limbs of the tree, but remaining there all the same.

And I don't want to say that the kite was me, that the kite represents how I feel. It does, but only partly. Because no matter how bruised, battered, and beaten I get, I still keep floating through the wind. I still keep trudging through the sky; being tugged this way and that.

And I don't know how to break the ties, the ropes of control. I can't find solace in the arms of a tree, way up above, where you won't reach me anymore.

But, you know, maybe I do. And maybe that thought scares me.

And maybe, like the kite just disappeared one day, I will too.

#

I've got ups and downs, and I'm never really in control. And this is the only way I'll ever really be in control – of who I am and of what people will think of me. And maybe that's all I've ever wanted, to finally control something in my life. So why not be in control for the most important thing? The one thing I don't have control of, but can actually _take_ control of.

#

And maybe this will get published, and there will be a foreword about how tragic my death was, about how easy it is for mental illness to consume someone's life. And maybe it'll be called "The Things I'd say to the one I love just before I die". And maybe you'll see it in the window of a bookstore one day.

Sincerely,

Yours.

A/N: I hope you recognize how fucking cruel this is. I hope you look past the facade and see this for what it _really _is. But most importantly, I hope you've fallen in love with the dead girl who wrote this. And I hope you hate her _almost _as much as I do. And I hope you _understand_ what that really _means._

_And you've got me wrapped around your little pinky finger. _

_Has it grown since we've last spoken? _

_Does it have the same bends and folds?_

_The same twists and turns?_

_Tunnels, bridges, and hinges? _

* * *

**A/N: Inspired by Virginia Woolf. Despite how difficult it was for me to read her work, it truly is amazing. **

**Drop me a line if you understand. And especially if you understand what she meant when she asks if you **_**understand**_**. **


	23. X Factor

******Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic**

**A/N: ****This is INCREDIBLY late, and I apologize. I've been really busy with school lately (just finishing midterms, final papers, and starting final exams in a couple weeks). I'm not so sure about this one, but it's light-hearted and fluffy in comparison to the last few. I hope you enjoy it. **

**X Factor**

Taylor was performing this week on X Factor, and a feeling of anxiety filled Demi's gut when she heard the news. The entire day was filled with nerves leading up to the night's event. Demi knew she shouldn't have been as nervous as she was, but the thought of being in the same room as Selena's new best friend made her heart ache uncomfortably. She spent the drive to the venue wringing her hands and rubbing at her chest, trying to relieve some of the built up tension clawing its way into her throat.

In an attempt to choke back the lump forming in her throat she takes a big gulp of the water bottle nestled in her hands. She drinks too much, however, and the water gets stuck in her throat. She coughs into her fist and sputters out "I'm fine" when she's asked if she's okay. She continues to cough and clear her throat periodically while thinking 'a clap on the back would've been nice. I could've fucking died'.

She quickly recognizes her sour mood and attempts to put a smile on her face that would be at least somewhat believable. Catching her reflection in the black, too black, windows of the car, however, reveals a tight-lipped smile, one that wouldn't be believable at all.

She forces herself to think about her contestants, and prays that she doesn't have to engage too much tonight. With her luck though, it's inevitable.

When she arrived, Demi went backstage to wish Taylor good luck just before her performance. She knocked on the door, expecting to see a tall blonde with soft blue eyes. What she actually saw shocked her. A familiar pair of warm brown eyes gleamed into her from the threshold of the dressing room. There was a trail of lights put up around the room and a miniature Christmas tree in the corner next to the make-up table.

The top of the tree reflected in the mirror and that's where Demi locked her eyes in order to avoid the steady gaze of the girl in front of her.

It took the blonde girl to get up from the couch and block Demi's view of the mirror to snap her out of her trance. A few mumbled hellos were heard before it became silent once again. The awkward tension filled the space between the hallway and the room, no space at all really. The tension peaked just at the frame of the door where the veil of air between the two girls met.

A few laughs coming from down the hall and the shuffling of feet woke the girls up. Demi nervously looked down the hall as she glimpsed the beginning of a 5-girl army approaching her. Demi's pulse quickened and her stomach tied in knots as she glanced back at the girl with her hand still wrapped tightly around the doorknob.

Just as the girls saw Demi from down the hall and began throwing out their hello's, a hand clutched Demi's forearm and tugged her into the room. She crashed into Selena, but was redirected to the right, just out of reach, as the door slammed shut behind her.

The closing of the door seemed to suck the tension into the room instead of shutting it out. And somehow the air between the three girls thickened once again, almost to an unbearable point. The heat in the room rises, almost stifling Demi, who is trying to breathe steadily, but her chest is heaving and her fingers are fidgeting at the bottom of her shirt. She can't will herself to look away from the girl in front of her though, so she keeps on staring.

The unexpected reunion turns sour, neither girl having enough time to prepare themselves. With their thoughts jumbled and their breaths hitched in their throats, stuck right behind the tongues, they looked at each other. Their mirroring actions astonish them because they'd been apart so long, but still managed to coordinate their mannerisms and body language.

In order to stifle the lump that has formed in her throat, Demi releases a strangled groan and swallows hard. The noise disrupts the silence enough to allow some minor movement. A pair of knuckles strain tightly around a held wrist, the first turning white and the second turning red. Shaking fingers run through dark brown hair and rest just below her ear. A pair of hands sliding in the back pockets of black jeans, clenching anxiously.

"I just came to wish you good luck, before your performance" Demi said. Her eyes narrowed and her gaze hardened as it fluttered away from the blonde and landed on the brunette. If there was a response, neither brunette heard it as their gaze on each other locked in once again.

The interaction probably only lasted a few minutes, five at most. But the reintroduction between the girls needed time. The air between them needed to properly adjust so that it could become breathable. Their bodies needed to readjust to their new internal temperatures now that the other was around. Because they both still felt the effects from their initial contact. Demi's wrist burned a hint of red and light moon-shaped marks were only just beginning to fade. Selena's hand still tingled from the contact, and the attempt to rid it of that feeling failed as she ran her hand through her silky hair a second time. Anything to neutralize the feeling on her hand, in her stomach, in her chest.

Selena takes a step back, and is relieved to feel some of the heat leave her skin and the tension in the room dulling into a light buzz, like slight mist in the sky on a sunny day.

Demi clears her throat and looks back at the blonde standing behind Selena, her gaze narrowing on Demi's.

"Thanks." The blonde says as she places a comforting hand on Selena's wrist.

Demi just nods her head, her eyes looking at their connecting hands. Her stomach twists in knots and she turns to walk out of the door to avoid the building up of tension yet again.

Just as Demi walks out the door she feels a hand pulling her back, and she can't stop her face from breaking out into a shy smile when she turns around and sees Selena looking at her with wide eyes. They're in the hallway now, with the door of Taylor's dressing room almost closed, and the tension that was previously so dense in the room was now non-existent.

The smile on Selena's face mirrored Demi's as she hesitantly stepped forward, her hand still resting lightly against Demi's forearm. "I, umm. I came tonight to, you know, support Taylor and stuff, and like, I thought that maybe I'd see you here too…" Selena trails off, her eyebrows knitting as she shakes her head, "I mean, I knew you'd be here, 'cause you know, you work here right? And I've been watching, like, every week, and I just wanted to see you, I guess."

Selena trails off again, the smile slowly drifting from her face as one of slight embarrassment fills its void. Demi smiles in response, her confidence returning as she pulls the taller girl in a hug, her arms wrapping around the girls neck as Selena's arms fit around Demi's waste perfectly. When she realizes Demi isn't letting go, she relaxes into the hug and wraps her arms tighter around Demi's waist.

After a few seconds, Demi pulls away, her body buzzing in delight. "It's really nice to see you." Demi says with a genuine smile gracing her face. "Don't leave right away alright? I want to see you again before you go." Selena agrees with a slight nod as Demi rubs her hands against Selena's arms and up to her shoulders, squeezing her twice before smiling and walking away.

The nerves that previously haunted Demi seem to float away as she walks down the hallway, more like _struts_, because she can feel Selena's gaze staring her down. The familiar feeling of having Selena next to her seeps into Demi's skin, making her feel like she can conquer the world, like when they were 10.

#

The giddy feeling that Selena left with Demi remained in the pit of her stomach, rising into her chest like acid. Happy acid. The thought makes her smile. Not even the disastrous events of the evening put a damper on her mood as she's called on to send one of her contestants home. Even as she walks to the stage to console the crying girl in front of her she can't stifle the feeling of Selena lingering on her skin.

Demi puts on a blank face, though, and honestly feels bad for the girl whose dreams have just crashed in front of her. An overwhelming feeling of guilt crashes into her gut, and she doesn't expect it. Her hand grips the shaking girl beside her, and when she goes in to hug her, it almost feels like Selena again.

#

As soon as the show is over and Demi is relieved of her duties, she scans the after party for Selena, hoping she hadn't left. Her eyes flutter shut in relief as she sees the girl she's looking for leaning against the back wall looking flustered. With an air of confidence surrounding her, Demi marches up to Selena and greets her with a hug. A surprised Selena hugs her back fiercely, mumbling an apology about the loss of her contestant, causing Demi to deflate into her body.

"Wanna get out of here?" Demi whispers into her hair.

Selena pulls back and smiles at her, brushing some of Demi's hair behind out of her face, nodding. "What do you have in mind?" Selena asks.

Demi, being mysterious as always just smiles and takes Selena's hand in hers, pulling her to the exit and out the door.

With Selena's hand in hers, Demi leads the way to the stage of the venue, now only illuminated by a few lights. She feels an exhilarating thrill run through her stomach as she hears the girl giggling behind her. They both kick off their heels to the side of the stage and walk barefoot into the centre, still holding hands. They swing their arms back and forth, their fingers connected at the knuckle, looking out into all the empty seats.

"I never realized how big this place was," Demi thinks out loud, feeling comfortable in the presence of the girl beside her. "It seems a lot smaller with all those people out there."

Selena looks at Demi and smiles and her relaxed composure. She squeezes Demi's knuckles in response, causing Demi to turn in her direction and smile. "It's really peaceful." Selena says, looking directly into Demi's eyes. She almost thinks they're leaning forward as Demi's eyes flicker down to her lips. Selena smirks in response, and Demi clears her throat, taking a full step back, the smile never leaving her lips.

"Hey, do you remember when we just go back from Puerto Rico and we filmed our first music video?" Selena asks, taking a step closer to Demi so that their arms are brushing. Demi's eyes are still trained on the empty seats in front of her as she replies with a laugh, "how could I forget? We had the best time filming that." She pauses. "I think that's the most fun I've have filming a music video, like, ever." Demi turns and smiles at Selena this time, a genuine smile pulling her lips almost as far as the edges of her cheeks.

Selena disconnects her hands and runs to her bag at the side of the stage where she left her shoes. Demi frowns at the loss of contact, but a huge grin graces her face when a familiar song escapes the speakers of Selena's phone.

"You still have that?" Demi asks.

"Of course! Don't you?"

Demi blushes, and nods in response. "I knew it!" Selena smirks as she sets her phone on the floor and skips towards Demi, taking her hands in hers.

She starts belting out the lyrics, both hers and Demi's parts, until Demi shakes off the earlier shock and starts jumping up and down in tune with Selena, singing the lyrics just as loud.

Selena dances up to Demi "Sometimes we rule, sometimes we can't even speak."

"But we kick it off, let loose and LOL" Demi sings back, making Selena laugh as they continue to jump around the stage. They almost mimic the actual music video, completely in sync as if they filmed it just yesterday.

Selena pulls Demi into her with an arm around her neck, looking into the audience as if it were a camera and breaks into the chorus.

"'Cause we're one and the same, we're anything but ordinary." Selena releases Demi from her grip and dances around to the edge of the stage, pretending to touch the hands of the fans clawing up at them from the floor.

"One and the same, I think we're almost legendary." Demi dances up to Selena and pulls her back, twirling her around until they're dances against each other.

"You and me the perfect team," their eyes connect, a fire blazing behind their eyes as they continue jumping around each other, their bodies colliding, "shaking up the scene, we're one and the same!"

Their voices drown out the music coming out of the speakers of the phone laying discarded on the stage. By the time the music fizzles out, the girls are laughing so hard that they don't realize another slower song had started playing. Demi's signature laughs rings through the stadium as they collapse onto the stage, Selena pinning Demi's arm under her head.

It takes a few minutes for their laughter to fade away, leaving the soft sound of Demi's voice ringing through the venue, echoing off the walls and rolling into the bubble surrounding the two girls. The familiar words of "Catch Me" cause Selena to smile as Demi hums along with the words.

Demi starts singing along to the words, "you've got me smiling in my sleep…"

Selena turns onto her stomach resting her body on her left elbow, with her right hand on Demi's stomach.

The words keep tumbling out of Demi's mouth as Selena's breath tickles her skin, causing a blush to spread along her cheeks.

Selena is mesmerized by the sweet voice escaping the mouth of the girl beneath her, as she stops singing when the guitars through the speakers become the prominent noise in the room. Selena's dark hair tumbling down onto Demi tickles her skin. Demi reaches her hand up to brush away some of the hair from Selena's face, tucking it behind her ear.

Just as the last verse comes through the speakers, Demi sings, "I'm giving up, so just kiss me." As soon as Selena registers the change in lyrics she smirks and leans down, pressing her lips against Demi's for the first time in two years, and it feels right.

#

Two girls sit in the audience, watching the girls on stage collapse onto the floor, wrapped in each other.

"That was the cutest thing I've ever seen." Camila comments, her head leaning against Lauren's shoulder who has her arm wrapped around Camila's body, her fingers dancing up and down the girls arm.

"Mmm" Lauren answers in return, placing a chaste kiss on the girl's head.

"I knew they had a thing for each other." Camila whispers. "I could always tell in their videos. They were so adorable."

Lauren laughs at Camila's fangirling nature, of course she would ship Selena and Demi.

"You know, I was almost tempted to ask Demi about Selena when I first met her." Camila says seriously.

Lauren laughs a little louder this time, causing Camila to jump up and slap a hand against Lauren's mouth. A "shhhh" sound escapes her lips as she turns to look at the stage just in time to see Selena lean down and kiss Demi.

**Some feedback would be great...**


	24. Raincoat

******A/N: Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic.**

**This is based off an incident that happened to me last week on campus, that still has me rattled. It's quite long, but I hope whoever reading this enjoys it. My sister makes a cameo appearance in this because she's been so supportive of my writing. **

**It's separated into four different point of views, separated by this symbol: #. And the fifth section is a point of view from one of the characters earlier. **

**Raincoat**

I check my schedule for tomorrow one last time before crawling into my bed. I check off the mental list of my duties before bed and look at the watch on my left wrist. Having gone to bed at the last possible time slot I left for myself, I know I will be tired tomorrow morning. I brush off the though as I check my watch one last time before rolling over and going to sleep.

The loud sound of my alarm clock startles me awake. I reach over and take my phone off the nightstand, turning the noise off before collapsing back onto the bed, my hands reaching up to rub at my tired eyes. The sleepless night clawing at my back to fall into a comfortable slumber, the warm air from my blankets escape as I kick them to the bottom of the bed. My second alarm rings through the room and I get up, turning it off and stretching. My disheveled appearance in the mirror causes a pang of anxiety to reverberate in my stomach.

I shuffle through the cluttered objects on my night table and make a mental note to block out an hour tonight to reorganize my room. I briefly wonder whether someone has come into my room and moved something as I notice a drawer is left slightly ajar, but I quickly brush the thought away and attempt to squelch the paranoia from creeping in.

In an attempt to distract myself, I continue on with my routine, happy that I left a few moments here and there for bizarre thoughts so I could not possibly run behind schedule. The list of things I need to do is colour-coded, laminated and hung up on the corner of my boudoir mirror, though I have memorized my routine long ago. I recite what needs to be done to prepare for the day as I walk to the bathroom. My planner lay open on the bathroom counter as I brush my teeth, reading off the things I have planned to do today.

I check off my list as I get dressed and walk downstairs and into the kitchen. My mother greets me as I walk up to my medicine cabinet, pull out my key from my pocket and open the door. I can see my mother shooting me a disapproving look from the corner of my eye, and congratulate myself on thinking of this earlier so that I wouldn't have to suffer through my paranoia. I look at the watch on my wrist and wait another 30 seconds until I swallow the pills in my hand with a glass of water.

Breakfast goes as planned, until my mother asks if I can take the subway today instead. My eyes narrow and my heart starts thumping wildly. I give her an incredulous look and firmly say

_No. _

She tries to reason with me, shooting off reasons as to why she just cannot drive me today. _She is lying. _She drives me every day, she cannot be busy today. I _need_ her to drive me. _She is ruining your plans on purpose. She knows what this does to you. _

_Come on baby, just for today. I've got too much work to do. You can do it. _

I stare at her blankly, before slightly nodding. My eyelids flicker up and down rapidly while I try to calm myself down and stifle the thoughts of paranoia from spreading throughout my body. I look at my watch, conclude I still have enough time, and pull out my alternate bus schedule that I made for circumstances like these.

_You will pick me up. _

Just as I leave the room my mom yells after me,

_Did you take your medication today? _

I roll my eyes in response and head to the bathroom where I sit on the seat and breathe deeply. My eyes scan the slight changes to the schedule and I sigh in relief at my ability to foresee every possible outcome.

The clouds in the sky are dark and luminous and I debate pulling out my umbrella from my bag, but think better of it. The umbrella will only reduce my vision of those around me.

I pull out my black pair of gloves before boarding the subway and hold onto the handle to keep me steady. The smell was repugnant and it was crowded, to my disdain. I must have checked my watch twenty times during the 20-minute commute to ensure that I would not be late for class.

Upon arrival I walk up the steps to the upper level and wait for the class preceding mine to leave. I check my watch for the third time since entering the building, three more minutes. I glance at the people around me and notice a girl with a bright yellow raincoat standing a few feet away from me, leaning against the wall.

She is smiling into the screen of her phone before putting it in her pocket and looking up directly at me. Her smile falters for a moment as I continue to look at her, but she smiles wider and tips her fingers at me in a slight wave. My lips turn upwards towards my nose as she looks away with a blush on her face. My head involuntarily tips to the right.

She has a medieval quality about her. Dark brown hair done up in loose curls falling just below her breasts. I wonder why I had never thought of her before today as another smile graces her lips and I find myself smiling as well. I check my watch again just as a group of students file out of the lecture hall and I skillfully dodge them while walking in the room behind her.

I sit in the row just behind her and to the left as she pulls out her phone again, another radiant smile gracing her lips. I am almost jealous.

I spend the rest of the lecture watching the girl listen to the professor speak, and I have never been so enamored in my life. She sits on the edge of her seat the entire time, her pen pointed on her paper; I like how she writes instead of types. She mostly listens though, but sometimes she'll squint her eyes through her glasses at something the professor says and furiously write something down in response, her pen barely leaving the page to space out her words properly.

Her writing is a mess, from what I can see. It should infuriate me, but it does not.

I wonder how she got me so attached with just one smile, after an entire semester of passing her by without a second glance. Perhaps it was the schedule change that shook me up. My mind goes wild at that thought and the monsters claw at my stomach yet again. I quickly shut it down before it becomes too much to bear and hide away behind my own glasses, watching her smirk as she writes.

Her head is far too close to the page and her hair moves with every pen stroke, making her curls bounce up and down. When she looks up she squints again through her glasses, her tongue pointing out between her lips, completely focused on the words being spoken and oblivious to my obvious staring. I had never been good at keeping my actions to myself, which more often than not catches me in unwanted situations with loose cannons.

I don't _feel _anything, but I have the intense urge to walk up to her and profess my "love" for her, in the middle of class, while the professor is speaking. Because I _feel _something.

An image of her dressed in a medieval gown flashes through my mind as I completely eliminate the rubbery yellow raincoat from her figure. She would have small braids in her hair, of course, and she would have to have a necklace around her neck, maybe an emerald, or a ruby. Yes, a ruby, to match the fire blazing within her eyes. And, of course, she would have to have a night in shining armour. I imagine what I would look like in silver.

I'm wrenched out of my fantasy, just as I approach my fair maiden, as another student is trying to get past me in the row. I cringe as he attempts to shuffle up against me and get up to make some more room. During the exchange, the girl from the row below is pulling her bag over her shoulder and heading towards the exit. I scramble to get my things into my own bag and check my watch four times, realizing I was a little over a minute late.

After packing up my things I rush towards the exit and down the stairs, then out of the building. I was proud of myself for finding a shorter route to my next class by going through the subway and avoiding the crosswalk above ground. You really should not trust drivers with your safety.

I do not know why I never noticed her before. Maybe it was the bright yellow raincoat. Yes, surely that was it.

Thoughts of the girl slowly escape my mind through my ears as the obnoxious sounds of the subway invade it instead. Checking my watch, I climb the steps and onto the street again, onto the sidewalk approaching the roundabout.

The light is turning red just as a taxi flies through it, smashing into a pedestrian crossing the street. It is sickening.

The sound of crunching metal and smashing glass resounds through the air as red lights in front of me block out my senses. The break lights flicker once before a man throws the door open and darts out of the taxi with his hands clawing at his hair, his fingernails digging into his skull in despair. He leaves the door open.

My feet move faster towards the one lane exit of the roundabout where the taxi lays immobile. A crowd already gathers on the sidewalk, maintaining a distance as sounds of anguish rip through the sky, the cab driver uncontrollably wailing in an unrecognizable language. Maybe just distorted English.

My feet take me directly up to the girl that sat near me in the class I – we – just left. The girl that – a strangled gasp escapes my lips at the first thought that comes to mind. _That could have been me. Thank God I took my detour. _The thought startles me as the girl lying on the floor whimpers in an attempt to move. The feelings from earlier are gone. I don't even know her name.

A feeling of relief floods into my gut though as I look at the girl with another man leaning over her. The man urges her to stay still, at least for the time being, and screams for someone to

_Call an ambulance_.

I look at the crowd of students around me. Some stand shocked, their hands covering their mouths, while others have their phones raised, taking pictures. I want to yell and shout at them to do something useful, to just help, but my mouth remains open, stuck in that sick o-shape, my limbs rigid as I hear more screams.

_Somebody call an ambulance. Please. _

The strangled please that escapes the grown man's mouth breaks me out of my catatonic state. The desperation of the man on his knees is evident in his eyes as he searches the crowd for someone to help, someone who could help claim responsibility if the girl didn't make it. The guilt is already present in the man's eyes as he looks back at the still girl on the pavement, not wanting to shoulder all of the responsibility for this.

An older woman catches my attention as she calmly speaks into her cell phone. Her words are muffled though, despite her close proximity to me. Her calm composure sparks the fire in my stomach again, attacking the feeling of relief as my eyes dart around the crowd once again, searching for anyone acting out of character. My eyes quickly dart back to the woman who has finished her conversation on her phone and then to the cabbie who is still wailing and crying.

His longer hair is ruffled because of his constant tugging at it. A button is undone in the middle of his jacket and an unmatched patch is sewn on his weathered trousers. He looks younger than most, but worry lines are etched into his face, as if he has not lived a day of his youth. The cab is dirty and worn down, reflecting his disordered composure, making me want to walk over to him and dust him off, maybe even comb his hair out.

Another girl approaches rapidly, wrenching my attention from the cab driver, her feet pounding against the pavement, getting louder as she approaches. She could easily have been stomping on my head with each step she took as the sound reverberated against my skull, shocking me into a dazed state. Through foggy lenses I see the girl drop to her knees next to the girl lying on the pavement, tears streaming down her face.

The man with the worried eyes attempts to push her away, until he realizes a response from the girl lying on the floor. A whimper and the slight movement of lips, mumbling unheard and unknown words as her eyes flutter open and closed.

The emergency lights from the taxi continue flashing red… red… red…red, in rhythm with the thumping of my heart. The traffic is piling up behind, people struggling to see what the commotion is. Someone honks, followed by multiple other honks and a few yell's from open windows. The crowd seems to thicken and a student videotaping the accident pushes me to the side.

The commotion surrounding me causes my hands to shake and my fingers to twitch uncontrollably. The collar around my neck closes in, choking off my air supply as I reach to tug at it. The watch around my left wrist tightens as well as I look at the time. My eyes bulge as I notice I am five minutes behind schedule and my stomach begins to churn, demons clawing up into my throat.

The girl on her knees is leaning over the girl that was hit, wailing her name over and over again. She doesn't seem to mind the red stains seeping into her hands, staining her fingertips, clogging the space beneath her nails. The sound of an ambulance becomes apparent in the distance.

The yellow raincoat is stained red around the collar, showered in glass instead of the expected rain.

Pleading words are mumbled, but none make sense in my mind like the sound of the girl's name, lying on the street, blood pouring out of her head. _Selena. _

#

The sound of my wife rustling in bed wakes me up earlier than usual. I can already feel the cold seeping through the glass window of our bedroom and between the cracks of the creaky doors of our apartment.

Sometimes I think I can feel the building swaying in the wind and imagine myself back home with my sister. When she would push me on our wooden swing, the hot air billowing against my face, the dust brushing up against my skin, tickling my nose.

The further commotion of my wife running towards the bathroom stirs me from my sleepy memory and onto the thin-carpeted floor, the cold seeping through and into my feet. I find her on the floor of the bathroom, her nightgown bunched around her thighs, her knees and calf's pressed against the cold tiled floor, her head dipped into the opening, nothing coming out. She looks up at me, miserable, almost as if to say: this is your fault.

I give her a smile as she flushes the toilet and I say,

_Any day now_.

She smiles then, and nods, placing our connected hands on her large stomach. She tells me she feels more nauseous today than usual, like the baby is trying to claw its way out. I almost know what she means when my hands catch a small little kick, and my stomach flip-flops like a fish out of water, pounding on the dock. The feeling of excitement claws its way up from my gut and into my throat in the form of laughter, my face almost breaking from the wide smile stretching it.

After getting dressed and eating breakfast, I kiss my wife twice, once on the lips, once on her stomach, and take my paper bag lunch out into the car. The sound of the engine starting relieves my fast-beating heart as I wave goodbye to the woman standing in the doorway with a smile on her face.

As soon as I pull out of my street, the anxiety comes rolling back in, knocking out my fragile sense of comfort, like a bowling ball charging down an alley that houses faulty pins. The prospect of another long shift eats at my insides, but the thought of not being able to support our child claws at my heart.

The day has been relatively quiet, except for the few passengers I've picked up peppered along the streets of the downtown core. In the times between passengers my mind wanders back to my wife who must be sitting in our family room, waiting for my call. I shake my wrist that holds my watch so that the face is facing me, and just as I decide to call her, another passenger waves me down from the side of the road.

It's a younger girl, maybe 16 or 17 and I greet her with a smile as she climbs nervously into the back.

_Where am I taking you Miss?_

I ask cheerfully in an attempt to ease her nervousness. She mumbles an intersection under her breath and I catch the tail end of it, smiling as I head to the business sector of the city. I try to stifle the obvious happiness in my gut to prevent my mouth from spilling out my own joys as she places her head against the window, blowing out a big sigh and fogging it up a little.

My eyes flicker between the girl in my rearview mirror and the windshield in front of me. She has her phone in her lap now, her eyes trained towards it angrily. The fire in her eyes startles me slightly. She swipes her short, very short, hair behind her ear, which is just above her shoulders, styled as if she were a boy. I get embarrassed as my eyes trail down to her chest to find it mostly flat, covered in a button up shirt. Her demeanor and dress confuse me, but I determine that this is just how teenagers are nowadays, although I must be only 15 years her senior.

My mind flashes back to a story I read about a taxi driver who was murdered by a girl in her teens back in the late 70's. The details escape my mind as a slight fear creeps into my stomach, a fear tethered to the girl with the angry eyes behind me. I sigh in relief as we reach her destination and I pull over. She shoots me a small smile with soft eyes as she looks at the meter and pulls out her money to place it in my hand.

I smile in return; dark red blotches creep up my neck as my earlier fear dissipates. She casts me one last glance and a quick thank you as she exits. I count the money, the extra bills weighing down in my hand as I smile widely.

The ringing of my phone interrupts me and I check my watch again, realizing that I forgot to call me wife and that she must be worried. My phone rings frantically as I quickly place the headphones in my ears and click the green button.

I answer the phone happily, and am met with laboured breaths. My heart starts pumping wildly as the back door of my car opens just as my wife begins to speak. The man that gets in speaks quickly, something about being a special guest for a lecture that he's late for, something about the university. My wife, on the other hand, tells me that she's at the hospital, that it's time, today, now.

Happiness bubbles up into my throat and I can't speak for a few seconds. The man behind yells for me to hurry up and go so I remove the car from park and start driving. I tell my wife that I'll meet her there, that I've got one last passenger and I'll be there soon. I send her kisses through the phone and hang up with a wide smile on my face.

I ask where we're headed and the man recites the address again, obviously irritated with my lack of concentration. I apologize and begin to ramble off at the man in the back seat, who is checking his watch every few minutes.

_It's our first child. We've been trying for so long. _

_We are so very happy. I'm heading off to the hospital just as I drop you off._

The words bubble out of my mouth and I can't quite shut it as I continue on, earning a few eye rolls from the man who checks his watch for the tenth time during the drive. I sympathize with him, he must be very stressed, being late and all. I manage to slow down the words flowing out of my mouth and smile at him through the rearview mirror.

We arrive at our destination twenty minutes later and he shoves crumpled bills into my chest before I get the chance to reach out my hand. As he gets out of the car he mumbles

_fucking Pakis_

and the slur catches me off guard. I pick up the money, which had fallen onto my lap and the extra weight doesn't feel so good this time. I'm not sure what that has to do with the birth of my first child, but it stings anyways. I'm not even from Pakistan.

My thoughts are immediately taken over with happiness, however, as I remember my next destination, something we had both been waiting years for. I quickly pull away from the curb of the ancient building and drive through the winding streets, struggling to remember how to get to the roundabout.

I pull into the turn, my foot unconsciously pressing against the gas, propelling my vehicle forward and into the intersection just as the light turns yellow. A girl running through the intersection blocks the one-lane exit. My eyes widen as I struggle to process what's happening in front of me. My heart is pounding in my chest as I slam on the breaks and turn the wheel, far too late.

The car jerks back just as the breaks register and the girl is hit. She lands on my windshield with a sickening crunch and rolls back onto the street. My hands remain frozen on the wheel, my body not moving from its position. My heart continues to thump wildly in my chest and I think I might have a heart attack. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I've hit another human being before I jump out of the car, my hands clutching at my hair, nails digging into my scalp.

My hands start shaking as I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet, watching as a man rushes up to help the girl on the ground who is whimpering.

It seems as if water is spilling from my eyes instead of dropping like the usual tears I'm used to. I think about my wife at the hospital as I begin incoherently blubbering. I'm speaking a mix of English and Hindi, blending the two languages together so that neither is recognizable.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _

The girl has tears in her eyes, flowing down the side of her face and mixing with her blood. I turn away just as footsteps come pounding onto the scene and another girl drops down onto the pavement crying.

The sound of sirens is obvious in the near distance and in an attempt to put myself together I flatten my hair against my head and wipe my nose with the sleeve of my sweater. The girl's name is now being repeated over and over again through muffled cries and I bring my palms against my ears to block out the noise, bending over in pain.

A police car barges in on the scene, coming from the opposite direction of the roundabout, quickly approaching the exit, me. An ambulance follows closely behind and I drop to my knees in front of the girl, my hands make a loud clapping noise as they're brought together in prayer. I lean my forehead against the asphalt and mumble a short childhood prayer over and over again under my breath. Mumbling for forgiveness.

I feel a hand gripping my arm, pulling me up as see the girl on a stretcher being placed in the ambulance. The other girl, the one with a pained expression and tears in her eyes jumps into the ambulance immediately after. My eyes close just as the doors bang shut and my life is immersed in black.

**#**

A giggle escapes my lips as the people in the lecture around me turn to stare. I bring my hand up to my mouth to prevent any further noises from escaping my mouth. I quickly type back, thankful for the touch screen instead of the keyboard phones, which would surely make annoying clicking sounds.

_You actually wore it? _

I send the text message and attempt to pay attention to the professor lecturing in front of me. My attention falters, however, as a buzzing noise in my lap drowns out his voice and I discretely pick up my phone, peeking at the screen.

_I can't wait until you see it. I look ridiculous. _

I laugh and type back, my fingers dancing on the keyboard quickly.

_I'm sure you look beautiful. You always do. _

I can almost picture her reaction in my head. Her lips forming an o-shape as if she can't believe I would compliment her. Her brown eyes would be gleaming and her mouth would then form into a beaming smile. I find myself counting my lucky stars for having a girl like that in my life and smile when I receive another text.

_*blush* Now shush, I'm starting class. I'll meet you at our usual place after 3 _

The kissing emoticon at the end makes my stomach flip and I smile, excited to see her in person in only an hour.

The lecture room is stuffy and hot, and the people next to me are still peeking at me from the corner of their eyes. My life is obviously more entertaining than whatever the professor is saying up on the stage. I scribble in the margins of my notebook, little hearts and stars and the letter "s" over and over again. I darken the letter until it makes an imprint on the page and I run my finger over it with a smile on my face. A little bit of the damp ink rubs against my index finger, smudging into my skin and spreading into the crevices of my fingertip. My hair falls in waves over the page, covering it like a curtain so that it remains my own little secret.

My mind wanders all around by the time class is over, and I wonder how the time went by so quickly, but am grateful for that fact. I quickly gather all my books and jump up from my row, shuffling past the people that are taking far too long to get their shit together. My feet take me out of the building and onto the street before the entrance hall gets too crowded and I speed walk to the coffee shop, knowing that I'll get there first.

The generic coffee shop we meet at every week is small enough to provide an intimate setting, but crowded enough so that we're not the only people inside. She'd always preferred any coffee that wasn't Starbucks so I'd found this place our first month of school together and it stuck. With our outrageous schedules, we've found it difficult to make our relationship work. But we decided to meet at least once a week at our coffee shop and it's become part of our routine every Thursday.

The weather outside doesn't put a damper on my mood as I feel a drop of water hit my cheek. I jog into the coffee shop to prevent myself from getting wet and check my watch, right on time. I greet the barista with a smile.

_What can I get for you today?_

She says with a smile, her glasses are placed low down her nose and she nudges then up with the knuckles of her fingers. She looks back to her books that are placed under the counter and I give her a pitying look.

I take a moment to think before deciding,

_I'll have a black coffee, medium, and a green tea… _

She interjects,

_For Selena_.

I smile just from hearing her name. She nods, a playful smile twitching at her lips, and pours the coffee from a pot into the paper cup. She hands my coffee to me, with the green tea coming a minute later. I hand her my visa and type in my pin when she gives me the machine.

_How's engineering going? _

I ask. Her shoulders deflate as she gives me a frustrated look and replies,

_Shit. Thanks for asking. How are your classes going?_

I shrug,

_so-so_

She smiles in return as she picks up her pencil and scribbles something on her page, tapping away at her calculator.

_Thanks Maria!_

I say as I take the coffee to the island on the other side of the shop and put a couple sugars in each while stirring them until they dissolve.

I walk towards the back of the shop and sit at one of the two-person tables. I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time; she should be here any minute. I pull the cap off of her drink so that it cools down by the time she comes and blow on mine, taking a small sip of the sugary coffee. I hum in appreciation at the fresh coffee and swish it around my mouth before swallowing.

After half my coffee and a 10-minute wait my gut starts to churn painfully. My phone lays immobile on the table after the fourth text I sent to her phone. I chew at my nails, which have turned into a jagged mess. My eyes dart to the door every few minutes, which has opened three times since I've been here, none of them was the girl I was hoping for.

Finally getting frustrated with bouncing my leg up and down and tapping my fingernails against the table, I get up and head toward the exit. I wave at Maria behind the counter who shoots me a questioning look as I throw the drinks into the garbage. I walk towards Queen's Park in order to get to Selena's class, my feet moving quickly against the sidewalk approaching the roundabout.

A crowd catches my eye just as I approach the intersection outside the building Selena's class was in. My curiosity gets the best of me and I approach a little slower than before until I see a taxi blocking the exit and showered glass around a girl in a yellow raincoat. My hand covers my mouth as the tears involuntarily leave my eyes. I sprint towards the accident and notice the blood on the pavement circling Selena's head like a halo.

I drop to my knees next to her and mumble her name over and over through my tears. My words are clouded over by the knot in my stomach and the clog in my throat that I can't seem to swallow clear. My hands tremble as I touch her face and her eyes flutter open and connect with mine. Weak. She attempts to smile and move towards me, but starts coughing and a little bit of blood leaks out of her open mouth.

No words come out, of my mouth or hers. And I don't even think I have the ability to tell her I love her as she continues to look at me, tongue stuck in her throat.

I bend down and place my trembling lips against hers bloodstained lips. They vibrate against each other until I press a little harder. My eyes tear up as I feel a light pressure responding to mind. I pull back as her body twitches again. The iron taste in my mouth shocks me as my tongue darts out, moistening my lips until I can't taste her any longer.

The sound of sirens suddenly bursts into our bubble as a pair of hands pull me away from her and hold me back. A pair of paramedics rush to her side, talking quickly and moving around her with fervor. My body and my brain seem to be in disagreement as my eyes still leak tears and my hands still tremble, my tongue remains caught in a cage and my legs wobble.

They prop her up onto a stretcher with a brace around her neck and the person who I hadn't realized was supporting my weight leads me into the back of the ambulance and helps me in. The doors slam shut loudly and I'm startled into silence, completely disregarding the miscellaneous noises surrounding me.

_You need to hold on a little more sweetheart, okay? _

The ride to the hospital is much shorter than I'd anticipated and before I know it I'm rushed out of the ambulance and into the emergency room. I jog after the stretcher that breaks through the doors and catch one last glimpse of Selena's blood stained hair falling over the edge. My hands are stained with her blood.

A hand rubs my arms up and down, in what I assume was supposed to be comforting and the woman asks,

_Is there anyone we can call for you honey? _

I shake my head. No.

**#**

The white hospital walls have always been a source of discomfort for me, one that I'm hardly able to escape most days. The noise gathers as I approach the emergency room and catch sight of a crowd of people. They all look up with pleading eyes when they see me, some even walk towards me, yelling out questions, crying, most are bloody.

I walk directly to the nurse to check the chart and look around the room to determine who would be next. Maybe the man with the bleeding arm, or the girl with an egg-shaped burn on her leg, or maybe the child that's coughing out a lung. My eyes scan for someone who needs the help most, who simply cannot wait any longer, because the others can wait for a slot, that's just the way these things work.

My attention is seized from the people in the waiting room when the doors open and paramedics run into the room with a girl bleeding onto a stretcher. My feet automatically carry me to the stretcher and reach out to help. The girl must be the age of my daughter, a little bit older. An intense feeling of sympathy floods into my gut as her lips mumble incoherently and the paramedics shake their heads at my questioning look. The small movement spurs me into action however and I yell instructions to the nurse who is waiting for my call. She jumps into action behind me and I bang through the doors, motioning for someone to watch out for the crying girl who walked in just behind.

My tired body after a long shift is suddenly sparked alive as the paramedics brief me on the case. The words flow into my ears and I struggle to process them as I stare at the girl under me, who is distraught, but fortunately still alive. Her head injuries are significant and I'm not sure how she managed to hold on for so long but as I wheel her into the operating room I'm not sure of her chance of survival.

The resemblance of this girl to my daughter stabs at me as I sit in the operating room next to a machine that's beeping steadily. The earlier hope having escaped me as her chest remains immobile. I haven't been able to leave the room, even though my shift ended hours ago. The girl lying on the slab looks far too peaceful in the midst of all the blood surrounding her.

Her body is placed straight, but the broken bones and lesions are easily identifiable against her pale white skin. It's as if all the blood has been drained from her body, and the pigment of her skin has just disappeared, making her look like a ghost.

I look at my hands, which are physically clean from her blood, and scratch my nails through my hair, digging into my scalp. The thought of leaving the room and telling her family that she didn't make it through haunts me, because a vision of my wife on the other side of those doors keeps biting through. My eyes begin to water and I try to reprimand myself for being so weak, but I give up as I look back up at the girl.

Before I waste any more time I walk out of the operation room and into the reception to speak to the nurse. I ask her where the girl's family is and her eyes are downcast as she mumbles,

_only her Mum, working on the third floor, maternity wing. _

I swallow the lump that gathers in my throat and nod, heaving out a deep breath as I walk towards the elevators. I find myself praying that it'll break down on my way upstairs to avoid the inevitable moment from happening, but they ding open as I'm released into the maternity ward.

The walls are painted with rainbows and suns and animals. I smile at the contrast to the white walls that are looming around me every day. The room number is stuck in my brain as I repeat it over and over: room 394. My feet take me towards the room as screaming fills my ears, turning my brain into mush. Swear words are thrown around in fits of anger, tainting the childishly painted walls. I find myself wondering why they didn't soundproof the rooms as my feet take me further into the floor, reaching my destination.

Women, mothers, who have no idea of the news I'm about to deliver, are greeting me with smiles. I reach the room and place my hand on the cool door handle, counting to five and then knocking quietly. The noise from inside is loud, as if the woman is just about ready to break. The door opens, however, and a young woman dressed in scrubs holds it open, waiting for me to speak.

I hesitate as I look into the room at a darker-skinned woman giving birth and flush in embarrassment. The nurse looks at me,

_well? _

I choke on my words, on the name escaping my mouth,

_Miss Gomez? _

She nods in affirmation, her eyebrows knot in confusion as she closes the door behind her, muffling, but not eliminating, the screams coming from behind.

_What is it? _

I hesitate again, until,

_Your daughter_

Her eyes go wide and she fumbles over a series of words, incomprehensible.

I'm not aware of the words that escape my mouth after that moment, my mind clouds over and I think about how unprofessional I'm being. But the image of the girl on my operation table makes a lump form in my throat as I spit out the words to the woman in front of me.

It takes a few moments for her to register them, and when she does her face breaks from confusion into disbelief, and then despair. A violent sob escapes her mouth as her hand reaches to cover it. She mumbles words,

_the only thing I had left_

and

_My baby_

She falls on her knees, hard, onto the shiny white floor.

Her cries are drowned out by the sound of the door opening behind her and the screams of a newborn baby.

**#**

I sit alone in the dreary waiting room of a therapist's office, waiting to be called on by the receptionist who is tapping away on her ancient computer. The clicks are loud in the silent room and I almost think I could figure out the letters she is typing from the unique click of each key that was resounding in my head.

A light flashes on her desk and she looks up from her screen startled. But remembers me sitting in the room with her and places a fake smile on her face,

_Demi, the doctor will see you now_

I rise from my seat and nervously rub the back of my empty left wrist and walk into the office.

* * *

**Any Questions? Comments? Reviews? **

**Which character is Demi? **

**Due to the obvious lack of interest in my stories, save for the few (but amazing) reviewers I have, I won't be updating as often. **


	25. Skype

******Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic.**

**Skype**

An annoying ringing sound filtered into my ears as reality slowly brushed away the clouds of my dream. I whimper at the late hour and pull my phone off my night table to shut it off. The blank screen confuses me, as the ringing sound is more urgent now, coming out of my laptop speaker. I shiver as I realize that I'd fallen asleep in my jean shorts and tank on top of the covers, again.

The noise stops for a few moments before starting up again, almost louder, as my dream-filled ears adjust to the silence of the apartment and the blaring noise interrupting it. The soft glow emitting from my half-open laptop make my raw eyes sting as I flip onto my side and open it fully. I turn the brightness down to the lowest level and press the big green button. It takes a few seconds for the screen to register my action; enough time to rub the sleep out of my eyes as the green webcam light flickers on.

The grainy image of a girl pops up on my screen and I can't help but let through a sloppy sleep-induced smile. The kind that really doesn't take any effort. The kind that occurs just by seeing the girl in front of me, no matter the quality. Her beaming face shines into my room, making me think that I'd turned the brightness up, causing the room to lighten to a dull grey from the previous pitch black. She sticks out her bottom lip in faux sympathy once she notices my ragged appearance, but can't stop the signature mocking grin from spreading on her face, pushing her cheeks upwards, puffed up like a squirrel.

"I'm sorry babe. But you told me to keep calling until you woke up." The sly smirk shows she really isn't sorry, at all.

"Yeah, that was before I thought you'd be calling at…" I trail off as I glance at the clock on the top right of my screen. A loud groan escapes my throat as my eyes bulge out. "3 a.m."

Her smile persists through my annoyed glare, but turns softer when she realizes I was genuinely pissed.

"You just look so cute when you first wake up, I couldn't resist." She pauses, fiddling with her fingers, "plus, I'm going to be busy all day today and tomorrow," she breathes heavily as if she's winded.

My mouth scrunches up in defeat before a smile forms, "only because I love you."

I almost reach up and touch the screen at my girlfriend of 5 years before thinking better of it. We sit and look at each other for most of the time. Our discussion filled with nervous smiles and blushing cheeks.

My laptop ends up on the pillow on the other side of the bed, her pillow, as my head rests against mine, leaning on my side. Almost as if she's there with me. My eyelids flicker open and close for a good ten minutes before she suggests I go to sleep. I brush her off and pull the laptop closer to me, burrowing into my covers, completely forgetting to remove my constricting clothes in the presence of the girl in front of me.

The clusterof dancing butterflies in my gut are the only things keeping me awake as she finally gets the hint and lies down in the same position as me. This time I don't have the restraint to pull my hand back and I brush my fingers against her face. I can almost feel her skin against mine.

The words that leave her mouth next aren't needed as this had happened too many times for either of us to count.

"I'll stall until you fall asleep"

I nod, my eyes drooping already, unable to keep them trained on the girl on the screen. Just before I fall asleep, I mumble,

"Come home, Sel"

I'm not sure if she says anything else, because my eyes slide shut, my lips purse and my hand falls on the side of the bed where her body should be.

I wake up to the black screen of my laptop, which is far too close to the edge of the bed for comfort. My covers are bunched up on the other side of the bed in the shape of a person. I'm wrapped around my big comforter, my arm and leg swung over it carelessly. The warmth of the cover protects me from the cool morning air as I snap my laptop shut and burrow my face into the red blanket between the bed sheet and comforter. The one she left behind to help keep me warm.

Sometimes I spray the leftover bottle of perfume she conveniently forgot here so that it feels more like home. I sleep best on those days.

My mind wanders to the things I have to do today and I groan in disappointment as my body wakes up, prohibiting me from falling asleep again. I roll back onto my side of the bed and stare up at the white ceiling. There are some tracks of flickered paint from when we painted the room a couple years back. The thought makes me smile as I remember our days as silly undergraduate students, our dreams on the brink of coming true.

I roll off the bed in defeat, my feet landing on the hardwood floor as the cold temperature seeps in, spreading across my body like a shiver. I curse myself for turning the air conditioning up too high, thinking about the extra money I could have saved if I hadn't.

I shake the thoughts from my mind as I go through my morning routine on autopilot, getting ready for the hard day of work and school ahead of me. My body feels tired as I hike my bag up on my shoulder, walking into the entrance of my only class for today. The lack of sleep catches up to me as the professor drones on without a break for the first half of the lecture. My writing had gotten increasingly messier throughout, the blue ink smudging from constantly fidgeting with my papers. After the three hours are up, I stuff my papers into my bag and rush to my car in the parking lot.

The drive to work is frustrating as the afternoon traffic piles up in front of me. The heat blazing through my window doesn't squelch the anxiety building in my stomach of being late to work, again.

By the time I pull into the site, I can see my manager giving me a hard look. The clock in my car tells me I'm 15 minutes late and I sigh, I need this job. The short conversation with my manager settled some of the nervous energy building up in my system as he shoots me a sympathetic smile and ushers me to work, not before reminding me that today was payday.

The thought of getting paid pushes me to work harder today than most days as the gloves covering my hands pick up dirt and clay. By the end of my shift my hair is pressed back against my face as if I'd applied a pound of gel to it this morning, and my face is covered in sweat and dirt. My arms have a farmers tan as I compare the colour on my upper arm to the dark tan on my lower, sizzling in the sun.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead as I wait in line to meet my manager. He gives me a tough look from under his brow but hands me a check nonetheless. As I look at the numbers in front of me, thoughts of my student loans flicker through my mind, about getting the opportunity to finally pay them down. The check in my hand suddenly feels heavier as images of Selena run through my mind.

I entertain the thought of going to surprise Selena with the money from today. My eyes flicker back to the check throughout the duration of my drive home. By the time I get there, the thought consumes me. Seeing Selena again in real life, for the first time in a year. Not through a grainy webcam image where I have to imagine her lying next to me.

Fuck it, I think. I shrug my shoulders, mimicking the boy Chris from Skins. The show Selena forced me to watch with her as soon as she found out her application had gotten accepted ran through my mind. She said she wanted to be prepared for British culture, British youth, and British life. I wanted to experience that with her, if only for a little while.

With trembling hands I open my laptop and found the cheapest flight to England. My stomach sinks as I book the flight. I can visualize the money draining from my bank account, although I know that all my hard earned money will not go to waste.

I busy myself with getting all of my loose ends tied up, first and foremost calling my manager to let him know that I won't be able to work this weekend. The plan starts to fall into place, then, when I realize that by this time tomorrow I'd be in England with Selena.

The plane ride was bumpy and I spent most of it clutching my armrest to calm my nerves. Nerves that were flying high because I'd be seeing Selena soon. I obsessively checked my watch, counting down the hours and minutes. I'd already changed the time on my watch to match the one in England, although I'd only be going for two days.

The excitement fills my stomach as I pick up my bags and hail a taxi. The address to her apartment is securely placed in my pocket, scrawled on an envelope from one of the many letters she's sent me over the past year. My stomach almost halts as I realize her words over Skype yesterday, that she'd be busy for the next couple days. I try not to let the disappointed feeling take over the one of happiness, but I sigh in defeat at my lack of planning.

I shake my head, earning some strange looks from the cab driver, as I rid the thoughts from my mind. _It's Selena; she'll make time for me no matter what._ The cab slows down in front of a medium sized building. I look up and see the white balcony railings covered with flowers and plants and smile at the well-kept apartments. The face on my watch smiles up at me as I realize that I really have planned this out well enough so that I'd make it just in time for Selena to get home for me to surprise her.

She jumps on me the second she answers the door. The smell of her hair in my nose makes my stomach erupt, the lava bubbling up my throat in the form of laughter. I spin her around in the hallway a few times, her legs tightly clasped around my neck. She pulls me into the apartment, her face beaming.

It takes a few moments for us to calm down, our mouths dropping from the initial excited grins to ones of bliss. The first words that come out of my mouth are "I love you." Her expression softens, her hands run through my hair. Pulling me close. Arms lock around my neck. Nose touching nose. Lips brushing lips.

"Say it again. I want to hear you say it again. I want to feel you say it against my lips. Over and over so I'll memorize what it _feels _like when you say you love me."

Her voice is forceful, urging. But so velvety smooth as it flutters into my ears, caressing old memories of whispered promises and love confessions. I almost cry.

She whispers into my mouth again, her hot breath making my sticky lips spark with passion.

"I want to feel my lips tingle with the feeling of yours every time I hear you say you love me; on the phone, on Skype, anywhere."

I can't deny her now, not when her breathing hitches as my lips brush against hers, more forcefully, not quite touching. My nose presses into the space between her cheek and the bridge of her nose. I speak the words slowly, deliberately.

"I…" My mouth opens, sweeping against her bottom and top lips, shaking against mine.

"…Love…" Our mouths are so close that my tongue flicks against her lips, my top teeth graze her lower lip on the v, where mine was supposed to be.

"…You." My lips purse into her mouth, and she takes this opportunity to finally press hers fully against mine, encasing them between her own.

Our mouths are stretched into grins on either side, smiling wide like circus clowns, pressed together but open, letting the emotion that's bubbling out of our mouths in giggles, spurts of rushed air, and squishing noises.

They stick together when we pull apart, the exchanged saliva only making them stickier, as if we'd been licking our lips while running in the dead of winter, making them feel gluey. Making me feel like I can never let go.

Her knees bend as I push up against her. She still straddles me. I pull apart her button up shirt, the buttons unfastening with satisfying snaps, like successive gunshots in the otherwise silent room. My nose travels up from her belly button, between the valley of her breasts and burrows into her neck. I'm careful not to let my lips touch her skin, but I leave a hot trail of breath, chasing down the path my nose blazes.

She's breathing heavily now. Almost as much as I am. Her toes curl in anticipation. My fingers kneed into the material of her shirt, clutching tight. I don't move as my hot breath sizzles against her fiery skin. I'm slightly panting as my lips remain dangerously close to her skin. Just out of reach as she pushes her self against me. To catch any sense of me.

I almost think our breathing is enough. I almost think that maybe we don't need to have sex. But her fingers curl into my hair. Twisting and turning and tying knots so I won't let go. And she pushes my head against her neck, my hot breath falls directly against it now.

Maybe my kiss is hot enough to brand her skin. Maybe my kiss will be there in the morning, I think, as I suck against her feverish skin. Maybe my kiss will be there forever, hovering just underneath the surface. Maybe she won't be able to shake me off.

I pull her closer and liken myself to a vampire, sucking her blood through the holes in her neck. I almost taste copper in my mouth as my teeth sink in. I can feel her pulse beating sporadically against my lips, vibrating against my teeth. Her rubbery skin slides easily as I graze my teeth down her neck, my tongue darting out every now and again to taste her.

Her hands clasp tighter in my hair. Nails dig into my scalp. A hot breath escapes her mouth. Lips press tight against my head. I can feel the heat: it's suffocating. It prickles against the new scratches. Burning. And come with successive moans attached. Moans that don't really sound like moans at all. I find myself thinking that I never want to leave this inferno, this sinful pleasure.

We don't have sex.

I can come up with multiple reasons why, like, we're on a cramped couch, or because I just got off a long flight, or because she has an early day tomorrow. And none of them fit just right. But we don't have sex because it's enough, more than enough, when she collapses against my chest, her heavy breathing burning against my red neck and closes her eyes, letting out a satisfied sigh. After not being together for almost a year, I almost want to jump her, but the position we're in is too comfortable to move and she's whispering 'I love you's' underneath her breath. And that's enough.

The feeling of her skin against mine feels magical and I'm happy that when I brush my fingertips against her puffy cheeks I feel skin and not the cold screen of my computer. Her puffy pink lips curl upwards into a lazy smile, her eyes fluttering closed.

We stay on the couch.

She doesn't even suggest we move to the bed, because the thought of having more space between us is, well, unthinkable. I don't want to get lost in a sea of blankets with her far too far away; we've already been separated for far too long. And I know that the logic seems a little wonky, but holding her close to me, her arm pressed tight against my stomach makes me feel alive again.

She falls asleep quickly, but I stay up. I kiss every part of her that my lips can reach and whisper my love for her against her warm skin. I spend far too much of the night tracing the map of her face with my fingertips. X marks the spot and I place a light kiss against her lips, she gurgles in response. I don't want to wake her up, but I pull her closer into me so that she's almost fully on top of me, her stomach resting halfway on my stomach, shirts hitched up so that our skin touches and burns.

I'm the type of sleeper that will toss and turn all night. I'll never wake up in the position I fell asleep in, or the last position I remember before falling asleep. The night consists of drifting from one side of the bed to the other, like a puppy who has lost its way. My arms and feet swing carelessly in pursuit of a position comfortable enough to fall asleep in. I flip flop for more than half of the night, on my back, my right side, left, sometimes on my stomach, sometimes in between when I'm feeling particularly unsettled.

But when I'm with her, when I'm holding her or she's holding me, I'm the most peaceful sleeper I've ever been. There's no more tossing and turning, maybe only some slight readjustments throughout the night. But largely, when she's sleeping next to me, I don't feel the need to squirm. I don't feel the restlessness that I do when I'm alone or with someone else.

With her, it's okay to stay in one place and be comfortable, vulnerable, because she'll always be there to hold me down, anchored to the springy mattress, the ground. That's how I knew I loved her. She was the only one that was ever able to accomplish calming my subconscious, lulling me into a peaceful sleep.

That's what makes it so hard when she's away from me. The restlessness never seems to end, and I'm left flopping on deck, like a fish out of water. One of these days without her, one of the smacks against the deck will be fatal and I'll blow my brains out through my ears.

I'm going to marry this girl.

Her sleepy eyes and mumbled good morning greet me along with the sun shining in through the curtain. The left half of my body is almost damp with perspiration and a current of cold air swooshes in as soon as she gets up, sending shivers throughout my body.

I cook her breakfast as she takes a shower, and she thanks me with a kiss. She tells me that she's got a few classes today, but that I can meet her at her lecture at 5. She apologizes, but I brush it off, her dedication puts a smile on my face.

"We'll have all day together tomorrow, I promise." She whispers against my lips as I nod and kiss her goodbye.

I told her that I was going to explore, and she offered me one of her friends to give me a tour. I walk out of the apartment, preferring to wander around the streets on my own. The weather holds out nicely, blue skies with white fluffy clouds. The envelope with her address is stuffed into the pocket of my jeans, although I'd already memorized it long ago.

The streets aren't as packed with people as I thought they would be, but the little shops surrounding catch my attention. I spend most of the day walking around, experiencing where she lives firsthand, instead of the detailed descriptions she used to give me on Skype.

The nearest jewelry shop catches my attention; the earlier worries about wasting money escape my mind as I walk out with a little black box in my shaky hands.

I make it to her lecture just in time, and watch as she stands in front of the class. The second she sees me her voice stops shaking and a smile graces her lips. She talks for the rest of the hour, and I don't find myself bored in the slightest. It feels nice to hear her voice in front of me, confident and passionate, she was born to be here and do this, and that eases my mind.

Her eyes widen in mock exasperation as she falls into my arms as the very last of the students file out of the medium-sized lecture hall. I congratulate her, and she blushes in response, "you're only saying that to be nice." I don't respond, I merely grin back at her, the happiness bubbling in my chest as I lead her out of the building.

Our footsteps clack against the sidewalk and she must have asked me 30 times where we were going. My response was a smile over my shoulder and the tug of her arm as we walked further.

"I did some exploring today…" I tell her. The smile on her face widens and she quirks an eyebrow, "oh?" I nod as we approach the spot a few blocks away from the jewelry shop.

"I figured you've been here before…" She nods, "But I thought it'd be romantic, you know?" She beams at me and pulls me in to place a small kiss against my lips, "You're too sweet." I blush.

We're standing at the top of the pathway leading down to the boardwalk, the cooler breeze calming my racing heart. I move to stand in front of her, my hands shaking between her own. Her face shows her confusion, but she continues to smile as I begin to speak.

"I love you…" She nods, she already knew that, and laughs. I pull one of my hands out of hers and take out the box that was in my pocket from earlier. "I'm not going to get down on one knee and make this a public event, because that's not what I wanted, but…" I snap the box open and tears form in her eyes, "I want to be with you, forever. This isn't just a promise ring and it isn't just an engagement ring. This is my way of saying that what I feel for you goes beyond dating, beyond marriage…" I trail off, my eyebrows knit as I struggle to form the words I'd been rehearsing for the past few hours. Her thumb rubbing against the palm of my head and the tears in her eyes pull me out of my thoughts.

"This is my commitment to you, whether you're here and I'm back home, or whether I have to move here, I don't care. I want to be with you…" She pulls me into a bone-crushing hug before I can get the words out and says yes about a million times before I catch my breath. She moves to take the ring out of the case, but I stop her before she does, "this is, like, forever. You understand that right?"

She nods, "I understand that. No going back, right?"

I nod this time, and slip the ring onto her finger. The extra space between the edge of the ring and her finger makes us laugh, "It was really last minute, and this is all I could afford, but I'll get it fixed." She smiles, pulling me into her, "It's perfect" she mumbles against my lips.

We had sex that night.


	26. Barney

**********A/N: Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic.**  


**Special thanks to liight-weeight on tumblr for the reunion idea. **

**Barney**

Selena finds herself outside Demi's front door before she can think her plan through. She doesn't call in advance, because she thinks that the recent interviews are reason enough to just drop by, if only to say hello. The giddy but nervous feeling in her stomach increases tenfold as she knocks on the door. The hard wood feels cold against her knuckles and she thinks that maybe she should've rang the doorbell, but hesitates as soon as she hears the lock of the door turning. There's no backing out now.

The look on Demi's face is less surprised and more full of glee. Selena notices that it grows from a simple close-lipped smile to a full teeth-baring one, and this gives her the assurance she needs to step over the threshold separating them to give the girl a hug. Her arms are thrown over Demi's shoulders and are locked around her neck as they rock back and forth, giggles escaping their beaming smiles.

Selena's gaze flickers up and down Demi's form and she decides that the pictures don't do her justice, not at all. Her hair is back to the blonde, although more of a honey colour, and Selena can't help but think how attracted she is to Demi. She looks healthy too; the rosy colour in her cheeks is inviting, and no longer due to the overwhelming heat that used to be present in the girls home.

Demi welcomes her in, offering her water, food, anything, as she literally bounces on the balls of her feet with a huge grin on her face. Selena's smile in return isn't as big, but one of a slightly nervous energy at being in the presence of Demi again. She finds it endearing that Demi wants to be fussing over her though. But it feels as if she's just any other guest at the house, as if she doesn't have any special best friend privileges, like knowing where the pickles are in the fridge. Or, in fact, knowing where the fridge is at all.

This alone, that their separation has become much more than just physical, barrels into Selena, as if she hadn't known all this time. It unsettles her stomach, which in the first place had been riddled with anxiety and worry. Selena thinks that Demi might have recognized her worried expression, and gestures towards the room adjacent to the entrance hallway in order to ease the tension.

They retreat to Demi's living room, which is reminiscent of her old house in Texas. The black leather couches are a little worn, and Selena thinks that they might even be a little familiar when she feels the material on her skin, rubbing it lightly with her fingertips, cold to the touch. The rest of the room is relatively clean, to Selena's surprise, but the small blanket bunched at the bottom of the couch, half stuffed into the corner, and the mess of magazines on the end tables ease her mind.

The mess is Demi, the Demi that she always knew and loved. A feeling of relief floods Selena's stomach at the familiarity as she sits on the couch while Demi sits on the loveseat opposite her.

There are new things that Selena notices that probably wouldn't have been there before. Like the book on astronomy, half-read, laying face down on the coffee table, and the pack of fruit flavoured gum, the Demi she knew only chewed mint. The minor differences spark a sense of doubt in Selena.

Despite the joyful reunion, the room has lapsed into silence. They glance at each other from under their eyelashes and blink away the chance of catching each other mid-stare. They're both uncharacteristically nervous in front of each other, something that had would not have occurred earlier in their relationship.

Selena expects the experience to be more relaxing, to feel more at ease, but she's wringing her hands in her lap, breathing heavily through another lapse of silence, and she thinks that it really shouldn't be this way. But then she reminds herself that they've only really been together for 20 minutes at most, and she shouldn't worry so much.

She attempts a smile at the girl in front of her who stops shuffling to return the smile as well. Selena wants to ask how Demi has been, but she thinks that will only emphasize the amount of time they've been apart, so she opts to start the conversation with a memory, a happy one at that.

"Hey, remember Barney?" This brings out Demi's signature smile, real big, as she hops off the couch and scrambles to the cupboard under her television. She shuffles through a number of DVD's and finally pulls the one she's looking for with a satisfied "aha!"

After popping the DVD into the player and grabbing the remote she plops on the couch next to Selena, her knees pressing against Selena's leg as she tucks her own legs under her. With a huge grin on her face she presses play, "how could I forget?"

They sit back and watch mini them frolicking on the screen. It takes Selena a few minutes to realize that the only scenes that appear are the ones with them together. Scenes where they're hugging and laughing and singing and dancing together. And it feels good.

It feels even better when Demi's hand rests appreciatively on her leg, and she plays with the fabric of Selena's pants between her fingers, almost tugging at it, as if to bring her closer.

They do end up closer and closer to each other. Until Selena's legs are thrown over Demi's. The heat emanating from her body feels so delicious under Selena's, enough to fill her stomach with glee. Their hands are stacked on top of Selena's leg and the childish action reminds them of when nights like these were many with few moments of separation in between.

By the time the video is over Selena feels comfortable in Demi's presence, who hasn't stopped chattering about various topics since the moment their hands connected.

Selena interrupts Demi mid sentence with a suggestion, "Maybe we should make a video, you know? Like old times." The words slip off Selena's tongue before she gets a chance to curl it back and stop them. She almost thinks she's crossed the line when she sees Demi's face scrunch up, her eyebrows caving in towards her eyes, as if she's in between unsatisfied and questioning. One eye squeezes shut as a smile breaks onto her face, probably because of Selena's wide eyes.

"Mmm maybe next time. But I think, for now, I just want to keep you to myself." And with that she weaves her fingers through Selena's and gives her a reassuring squeeze.


	27. Snow

**A/N: ********Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic.**

_This was written specifically with one person in mind. You know who you are. I hope. You're all I ever want to write about._

**Snow**

The phone call, the one I received far too early in the morning, woke me up to a dimly lit room, snow swirling messily outside my window. My voice, weary from a restless sleep, rang through the silent room, 'hello?' followed by a rather short, but strained, conversation with the distant voice on the other end.

"My mom, she… can you come get me?" I tell her that it's too early in the morning, that I won't be getting the car until later, mid-afternoon latest. Her sigh sounds strangled over the phone, incredibly upset. And I feel guilty for letting her down. I assure her, "I'll be there by 12 pm, latest. I'll have the whole day planned. I'll, like, kidnap you, okay? Just be ready by 12."

I hope that the determination in my voice will ease her mind, even just a little, as her voice comes through, low, "that's 6 hours away," she pauses, lets out a short breath, "okay, see you then. Thank you."

The hour sinks in as the dial tone sounds. I count 10 rings, enough to coordinate my breathing before finally hanging up as well. My blinds, half shut, allow slits of sun to filter into the room with enough light catching my eye to drag me out of bed. I struggle with the chord before tugging it open and letting the light through, making my eyes burn uncomfortably and a strangled whine to escape my mouth. Despite the early hour, the relaxing image of the snow flirting with the wind and landing peacefully on the trees places a warm blanket on the anxiety building in my stomach from the early morning phone call.

This calming feeling, ultimately left by the snow, latched in my mind for the rest of the morning, which I spent brainstorming on what we could do for the rest of the day. All my ideas however, staying at home, going to the movies, going to the mall, I grudgingly vetoed. Ordinary ideas wouldn't cut it, not for today, and then I remembered a conversation we had when we first met.

I told her that one day I would take her up north where the snow seems to be endless and the day would be full of tobogganing, snowball fights, and snow forts. The idea caught light quickly in my mind and snowballed into a legitimate plan.

The goal: A day as calming and warm as possible, anything to make her feel at home again.

Despite the fact that she isn't very fond of the outdoors, or the cold, the day seemed as though it would come together wonderfully, the weather, the location, everything. As I make my way over to her house I get a text asking me to come in and respond telling her to dress warmly.

Her house, which had always been warm and comforting, was grey and dreary when I walked in, the only light flashing from the television. Selena softly pads down the stairs; a small smile grows on her face when she sees me and the things in my hands. I offer them to her; a pair of snow pants, thick socks, and gloves.

"You'll have to bring your own hat though," She laughs and jogs up the stairs, leaving me standing in the hallway. The couch is slightly visible from where I'm standing where her mother lies, staring blankly, her hand clutching onto the remote. The gloomy house seems to reflect her mood, and explains Selena's early phone call. The tension from their earlier argument hangs in the air, and I understand Selena's need to escape from the suffocating house.

Her mom doesn't question my presence, although I'm almost certain she knows I'm here. She also doesn't respond when Selena tells her she's going out for the day, which I know must have upset Selena who shakes her head before walking out of the house, pulling me with her.

The road on the way out of town isn't as crowded as I expected and before I know it we're headed towards the country roads, where there isn't much of anything but dark wet roads and rolls upon rolls of snow.

The feeling of being out of the house must have done Selena some good as her demeanor becomes lighter, happier.

Her head rests on her fist, elbow on the armrest, and her temple leaning lightly against the window, surely leaving a red splotchy mark from the cold. Her breath fogs up the window with every exhale, leaving a wispy barrier between the outside world and the world between us in the car. Our hands, still connected, have transferred from the initial hand cupping on the gearshift to being weaved together, the way they do after we make love.

I'm far too preoccupied with the sight of the girl next to me to keep a proper eye on the road. But I manage to maintain enough self-control to focus my eyes on the scene in front of me. The wet dark road splatters by under my wheels as small snowflakes continue to scatter along the pavement, most disappearing on contact.

The roads, winding by now, have become less and less occupied as the oncoming vehicles quickly pass and disappear from my vision in the rearview mirror.

Selena remains beside me, her grip on my hand loosens, as her breathing grows shallower the farther we get from her home, her Mum. The white blanket of snow grows on the sides of the road the further north we go. They are no longer marred by careless footsteps, or brushed away by shovels. Neither are they shaped into snowmen.

This snow, so untouchable, so delicate, provides a sense of ease within me, which I'm sure has translated into Selena as well, who's shoulders have uncoiled, who's eyes have grown lighter, who's smile has turned sweeter. I can't help but cherish the serene moment between us, in hopes that it won't turn sour, despite our greatest efforts to maintain our safe haven and block the outside world from knocking in.

In our relationship, the drive has always been equally as important as the destination. I've always prided myself on having the ability to pull her away for a few hours by driving around town and distracting her. If the calm look on her face is any indication, this time was a success as well.

After carefully maneuvering through a sharp turn, our view breaks from the high hills and opens into the middle of a valley, blissfully empty of everything but trees lining the edges to the very top of the hill. The thought of the tire tracks I've left behind makes me cringe for scarring such a beautiful terrain, but I pull off the road anyways and onto the bottom of the hill, parking parallel to the trees, close enough that my door will brush the edges when I open it.

It's calming, the way the car meets with the bend of the hill and the way her fingers fit deliciously between the bends of my own fingers. They trace along the back of my hand, between my knuckles, before weaving through and clutching loosely. I'm only given a second to look at her before her lips are pressed against mine, cold from their close proximity to the window, enough to make me shiver as they purse into mine.

The cold had always had an effect on her body; her chapped lips, wet from her constant licking, are testament of that as they stick against mine as we pull away, leaving a sticky residue on my own. Although only lasting several seconds, it leaves me woozy, partially from the extended period of time without them against mine, and the other from the awestruck feeling that barreled into my stomach, as if it were our first time all over again.

With a smile and the clap of my hands we exit the car, jumping into the mid-calf high snow with our boots. A pleasant feeling builds into the pit of my stomach as I brush my bare fingers against the snow, flinging it so that it makes an arch in the air and falls back onto an untouched spread, leaving small holes like tiny water droplets.

As I open the trunk to get the equipment, Selena falls back onto the snow, her arms spread like an eagle, her head back, as her body makes a splat. Her eyes wander about the sky above her, breathing in the light blue sky littered with puffy white clouds, the perfect day. I fumble with the toboggans in the trunk and throw them onto the snow, leaving an imprint.

Without any hesitation I fall back onto the snow next to Selena, pinning her arm underneath me. The knowledge of our solitude makes me feel peaceful. Without the eyes that are constantly veering in our direction, without the watchful gaze of her parents with their glaring eyes and tight jaws. Her hands, still bare, find mine as my head rests on her shoulder and she wraps her arm around me in a comforting embrace.

The snow we're lying on begins to seep into my shirt in the area between my waterproof jacket and pants, causing me to rise from the floor, tugging her along with me. We manage to keep the imprint our bodies made on the snow in tact and I have the distinct urge to draw a picture of it, or take a photograph. But before I know it Selena fits her gloves onto her hands, grabs the tube from the floor and darts up towards the mountain, yelling: "C'mon slowpoke! I'm not waiting for ya!"

The giggles that erupt from her throat and the glee in her voice pumps the blood into my legs, propelling me forward in her direction and up the hill. By the time I catch up to her we already reach the top, panting, but too excited to dwell on the cold air burning in our lungs. She launches herself onto the rubber tube, black with pink hearts from when we were children. Her legs are wide open intended to hold me, and I take my rightful place, her arms fitting around my stomach before we both make the effort in kicking our feet until we're teetering off the edge.

Looking back, I kiss her quickly before giving one more push until we're flying down the hill. The wind whips around us and the snow slits onto our faces, making my eyes squint shut while my mouth hangs open, exploding with laughter.

Despite our straight path down the hill, we end up flipping over with a face full of snow by the time we reach the bottom. Our laughter doesn't stop as we roll off the tube and catch our breath to look at each other's appearances, only earning more laughter in response to our surely mirrored images.

By the time our laughter dies down I'm left with a feeling of bliss in my stomach as the sun behind Selena filters through her hair, sprinkled with snow. Her cheeks are red from the cold and unusually puffy from her excess smiling. I feel like I've accomplished something wondrous, getting her to smile, and I make a note of this moment for future reference.

The day carries on very much the same, long treks up the hill followed by a speedy decent that seems to last only a few seconds, just enough to hurl me back into her arms by the time we reach the bottom. The snow is no longer crisp, but has our imprints all over it. Discarded snowballs litter the spaces behind us as we fall into a puddle of laughter in the middle of the battlefield – no man's land. Ours.

"I love you very much" The confession had been burning on the tip of my tongue the entire day. I'd whispered it under my breath all the times the sun caught her eyes or when I saw them flash with glee at something I'd said or done. Or, perhaps more importantly, when we'd come crashing down and she'd lay her arm out just enough to protect my head from being buried in the snow. It's moments like these, when I should be protecting her while her world falls apart, that truly astound me because of how much she protects me. And how little.

It's in the little things, after all.

"I love you," her response is muffled by the scarf covering above her chin, brushing the underside of her nose. Her tone is even, bright, she doesn't stress any of the words; there's no need. The cold, in all its glory, has made her voice rougher, throatier, sexier. Intoxicating.

The fun and games of the day are dying down, which I'm sure we're both glad about as our bodies melt into each other, much like the snow on Selena's tongue, sticking out for the whole world to see – me and the trees. Her eyes, fluttering shut make her look peaceful, ethereal among the sea of white, dark blue, and evergreen. All I want to do is watch the way she looks with her eyes drawn shut, because that's when she's most vulnerable, and I feel honoured that she blesses me with the most delicate pieces of herself.

She pinches me, as if she can sense that I'm watching her, even though her eyes remain closed. I turn to look up at the sky.

"Hey, look," I whisper as I point up to the sky as an airplane cuts through the sky, its blinking lights look inviting from here, as if the plane was urging us to _notice it_. The sky, now a deep blue, lights up with the wondrous colours of the sun, sinking below the top line of the hill.

Her eyes intently follow the plane, a pastime she had never grown out of since she was a child. "I bet it's going to Belgium," she says miraculously, "I'd like to go to Belgium," she pauses to look at me, and with the innocence of a child, she asks, "wouldn't you?"

My smile, which I hope resembles hers, brightens at the thought of traveling with her, far and wide, like we used to dream about doing. I refrain from pointing out that if the plane were going to Belgium it would be heading in the opposite direction. And I think she knows that as well, but the simplicity of the decision, Belgium, grows in my heart and I nod enthusiastically. "One day my love, one day we will."

I'm caught by surprise as she hurls on top of me, her lips press deeply against mine, muffling the 'umph' sound that leaves my mouth from the weight of her on my stomach. They tremble, in excitement, her teeth chattering against mine due to the cold. Our lips are like suction cups: sticky, fitting together for a few seconds before peeling apart. The air quickly rushes in and replaces her lips, cooling the hot air between us, stinging my lips as they dry off.

If we hadn't been lying down I would have fallen in a fit of bliss, hugging the snow as if it were a collection of fresh white bed sheets. Because that's how you fall in love.

Except this time I only smile and tighten my arms around her waste. She whispers, "promise?"

I nod. "I'll take you anywhere my love."

_Fin. _

#

_I'd take you tobogganing, ice skating, even gratuitous activities in an igloo, the whole lot, anything you can think of. I'd bundle you up nice and warm, snow pants and sweaters, gloves and scarves. I think I can even dig up an old cowgirl hat too. _


	28. Violin

******A/N: ********Submit story prompts to my tumblr page demenafanfic. **

**************I apologize for ****the time between updates, I've been busy with vacation, work, familial obligations, and some health complications. I'm hoping to update sooner in the future. **

**Violin**

The sound of violins resounding throughout the church signals that the ceremony has finally started, after a half hour wait on the blonde bride. I'm annoyed at the screeches of the poorly learned players, who I'm sure must have come from the local high school band. I wait my turn, last in line, right before the bride.

The pews are filled with vibrant faces that beam at me as I clunk down the aisle ungracefully. I finally reach the end and take my spot amongst the other bridesmaids at the end of the line, farthest from the altar.

The amateur playing doesn't seem to have an effect on the beaming bride walking down the aisle towards me. The sunflower bouquet in her hand is certainly nicer than the single flower we had been given.

The stuffy pink bridesmaid dress I'd been forced to wear is nauseating. I can't imagine what the bride was thinking when she chose the colour, and the dress for that matter.

The stifling heat keeps hitting me in waves throughout the increasingly boring ceremony. I didn't think either of them were particularly religious, and the ceremony being in a secular church gave no indication that the hour and a half so far would be full of religious traditions.

The majority of the audience (because that's exactly what they were) began nodding off, all except for the parents of the couple, who for the most part seem pleased with the ceremony. And a woman in the very back pew who looks onto the ceremony with severity, her jaw tensing periodically in what I can only place as anger.

The couple to my left are beaming at each other, their hands clasped between them as if they'd been waiting for too long for this moment (only seven months, in reality). I zone out while staring aimlessly at the girl in the last pew. I don't even realize that the ceremony has finally finished until the wedding planner quite literally shoves me down the aisle following the happy couple. I missed the kiss.

By the time I reached outside the church, the rice had been thrown and the "just married" sign was disappearing around the corner. At that point the people had already broken off into groups towards the parking lot, except for that same girl with the intense look, who continues to stare at the corner where the car had turned.

I look around me and notice I'd been left behind without the rest of the excessively large bridal party. I roll my eyes but ultimately shrug in indifference. I then focus my attention on the girl at the bottom of the steps.

She's much prettier than I'd been able to see from the very front of the church. She looks uncomfortably hot, though, in her floral print dress and bulky leather jacket, but made no move to take it off or wipe away the bubbles of perspiration forming on her forehead.

My feet remain glued to the floor as I watch her and I fiddle with the bouquet of flowers in my hands, which looked _delightful_ with my baby pink dress.

I'm interrupted by my loud ring tone as I juggle the things in my hands to pick it up, accidentally dropping the flower. Fuck, I forgot to turn it off during the ceremony.

My brother's voice floods into my ear from the other end and I'd never been happier to hear his voice.

"How's the wedding sis?"

I sigh, "you should've been here, do you even realize how awkward it is taking your place in the wedding? I barely even know her!" I exclaim.

His response is a hearty laugh as he promises that his flight is taking off soon and he'll be at the reception a.s.a.p.

While we speak on my phone I half notice the girl at the bottom of the steps turn her attention towards me. By the time I hang up and reach for the flowers, I'm beat by the girl rushing up the steps. Her eyes glance over me appreciatively before a look of guilt replaces the small smile on her face.

Her eyes are an intelligent mahogany, wary and old, but refined, like the furniture at my parent's place. Her sunglasses quickly hide them, though, as she tilts her head to look up at me from two steps down.

Fiddling with the flowers in her hand she asks, "Um, do you mind if I…?" She halts there and lifts the flowers while simultaneously pulling off her glasses. She sheepishly smiles at me, "they're my favourite." Her eyes squint closed from the sun glaring in her eyes, making her look angelic.

I smile at her, secretly relieved that I won't have to throw them out, or even worse, carry them in the taxi with me to the venue. I feign a thoughtful look, which makes her face drop its hopeful demeanor immediately. I concede with a smile, "It's all yours."

She genuinely looks happy when I agree and gives her thanks quickly as she walks towards the parking lot like the other guests. Just as she reaches the bottom step, catching me staring, she smiles and adds, "maybe I'll see you there" before walking away again.

xxx

I half wish she'd have offered to give me a ride after waiting the 15 minutes for my cab to arrive. The venue, a good 30-minute ride north empties out a large portion of the money in my wallet, as I grudgingly hand it over to the driver with the gleaming eyes. I expect a hefty reimbursement from my brother as I curse him once again that day. This better have an open bar.

It looks like I'm a little bit too late for the wedding party as I catch a glimpse of them taking the wedding photos without me. This fact doesn't bother me as much as it would have, that my brother was the one intended to be in the wedding, and I was merely there to make the numbers work, to make the wedding look "even".

I'm grateful that I no longer have the sunflower in my hands as I approach the outdoor bar, flooded with grabby guests dying for any type of alcohol.

The darkening night is supposed to provide relief from the staggering heat, it does not.

"Gin, please, with a whole lot of ice." The bartender seems happy enough with my order to lend me a smile before rushing for the drink. He doesn't even get the drink into my hands before helping somebody else immediately to alleviate some of the built up crowd.

I take that as my cue to stand on the very edge of where the official wedding party is taking place. The expensive looking dance floor shines brightly underneath the multitude of white lights, polished to a tee. Everything is white, even the flowers in the vases, save for a few light pink roses, and a few sunflowers peppered on select tables.

Clusters of round tables surround the dance floor, all facing the small stage on the one side of the floor where a band plays quietly against the bustling loud crowd sifting to and fro from the bar and their seats.

I feel awfully removed from the entire thing as I check my watch every few minutes, scanning the venue for my brother and sipping on my drink.

"Uh-uh – you really shouldn't be drinking that…"I hear abruptly before my drink is tugged from my fingers harshly and a flute of champagne is placed as a poor replacement.

I'm greeted with the impish and annoyed face of the blonde bride as she abandons my drink on the nearest table, shooting an award-winning smile at the guests sat there.

She turns back to me, sparkle gone, except for her large diamond-clad finger nearly blinding me, as her eyebrows crease in anger and she pulls me out of earshot from the curious guests.

"Where have you been?" She says through clenched teeth, not waiting for a response, "you missed all the pictures, not that I mind," she mumbles, "and what were you thinking holding that drink in your hand?" I wait for her to continue, but she chokes out an exasperated "huh?" I don't answer, and opt to take a sip of the expensive champagne she thrust into my hand, I mimic her voice in my head 'what were you thinking when you chose this colour combination?'

She looks at me like I'm retarded, and shakes her head, "Do you know what that would do to my reputation if people see you drunk? You're insufferable. You would've thought you'd have grown out of it, or your brother would have taught you some good manners."

My jaw drops in a mix of shock and anger, and just before I decide to raise my voice and rival hers, the second bride interrupts me.

"Hey, I've been looking for you…Hey Selena," She says with an apologetic smile.

"Hey." I raise my glass in response.

"Come on, let's go see the Boem's, they've been asking to see us together for quite a while now," she says as she ushers her wife towards the dance floor. "I'm sorry if she was rude or anything, she gets like that when she's stressed," she informs me over her shoulders, as if she'd known her for more than seven months, and I hadn't my entire miserable life.

She walks away without waiting for a response, following in her wife's direction, and I'm grateful for her quick departure.

xxx

Just as the wedding seems to reach an unforgivable temperature, I spot the girl with the sad eyes drinking a bottle of champagne among the flowers halfway up the hill. Her attention, though, is focused on the lake opposite to where the newly married couple is dancing. Tugging at the stuffy, and rather hard material of my dress, I begin my trek to where she's sitting.

She remains motionless except for when she gracefully tips the bottle back against her mouth. My eyes are trained on her lips.

About halfway up the hill I decide to take off my heels, which are sinking into the grass, and it's then that I notice the carefully placed sunflower on top of her leather jacket.

The gesture is enough to draw out my curious self and reject any objections I had about speaking to her.

I power forward with my poorly thought-out introduction. "This is the first gay wedding I've ever been to."

No response. I decide to persevere as I continue to approach her until I can clearly see the profile of her face.

"You don't look terribly happy to be here," I try again.

She looks at me from under her brow, creased with a mixture of confusion, pain, and drunkenness.

"I'm in love with the bride."

The champagne bottle connects straight back to her lips; she swallows the head and tips it back into the air. I almost think she'll offer me some until I realize that it's empty when she discards it to her side.

"Which one?" I question, "there're two."

She snorts, "I'd noticed."

She's supposed to be a sloppy drunk, hand wiping messily at her mouth, slouched posture, droopy eyes. She's none of these things. Her back is straight, although her shoulders slouch downward in defeat. Her fingers are playing hide and seek with each other in her lap, twiddling around. Her eyes are scrunched from the angle of her eyebrows, tilting downwards, like they're comforting her, trying to prevent her from crying.

I gesture to the ground beside her, "do you mind?" She shakes her head and I ungracefully plop down beside her, disregarding the fact that my dress might get dirty, and slightly hoping for it.

"My name's Selena" I say, sticking my hand out in front of her. She turns to look at me with a grimace on her face that lifts slightly as soon as she sees the bottle of alcohol in my hand.

She sticks her hand into mine, and I feel embarrassed that my hands are hot and shaky, while hers are cool and controlled. She doesn't seem to notice, though, as she introduces herself in return.

"Demi. Do you mind?" She says, pointing at the bottle.

I shake my head, "not at all. I thought you'd want something a little stronger." She smiles thankfully, pulling it out of my outstretched hand and taking a swig.

"I nicked it from the bar, when they weren't looking." She laughed, taking a slightly longer drink this time.

In order to get a bigger reaction from her, I persist, "I mean, they only put this much alcohol," I gesture with my fingers, "and _this _much of whatever other stuff, I mean, this is a wedding, there's no need to be cheap."

She laughs at this, and agrees, "Definitely. We're all here to get drunk anyways."

I feel accomplished.

"So what are you doing away from the big party?" She asks as she glances over her shoulder at the dance floor, her face souring in response.

"I don't really know anybody…"

She raises her eyebrows, "you're a bridesmaid."

"I know" I laugh. "What are you doing here all alone then?"

She looks out over the lake thoughtfully. I would have laughed at the cliché if she hadn't looked so serious.

"It's not my kind of party. Those…" She juts her thumb over her shoulder, "are not my kind of people."

I nod, "fair enough."

She offers me the bottle in her hand, her face tilted down mysteriously as she peers at me through her eyelashes. I blush.

"Thanks for this by the way."

I tilt the bottle towards her as a response and raise my eyebrows before bringing the bottle to my mouth. I can smell her lip-gloss strongly as the strawberry taste brushes against my lips, completely washing away the bitter alcohol burning my tongue. It's _nice. _

"So, which one is it?" I ask, and her eyebrows raise in question, "Barbie Bitch or Black Widow?" I explain.

She laughs deeply, the alcohol holding it out for much longer than it would have had she not been drinking.

"Black Widow, I suppose." She pauses, taking another sip from the half-finished bottle, "you?"

"Barbie Bitch."

"Ah, I should've known. I think I would've remembered you if I met you before."

I blush in response. "She's been my brother's best friend for as long as I can remember. She made my life a living hell in high school, and beyond," I lean forward, motioning for her to do the same, "because I'm gay."

Her eyes widen and she barks out a laugh, "you've got to be kidding.."

"Not a word of a lie," I laugh.

"Gosh, what a fucking hypocrite!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. I never thought I'd be at her gay wedding. She hates me."

"So why are you a bridesmaid?"

"My brother is studying abroad and he couldn't make it for the wedding. It was short notice, they sort of forced me into it."

"Oh." She responds, "that really sucks."

"Yeah, but at least I get to stick it to her. I'm one thing that went wrong for her wedding." I smile. "Is it wrong of me to find her misery amusing?"

"Not in the least bit," she answers, "And anyways, I'm at least the second." She pauses, and I stay silent, realizing that her speech was stunted, and she'd want to continue after a few seconds of silence.

"You should've seen Barbie's reaction when she found out her wife-to-be's ex would be coming to the wedding." She laughs distastefully, "She even came by my office to bribe me not to come. You can only imagine how that conversation went."

"Yep! That sounds exactly like the Bitch I know."

She fiddles with the sunflower lying on her jacket, "she must've freaked when she found out the bridal party would be carrying sunflowers." She smiles sadly, her mood somber, until it grows bigger, "It fucked up her entire colour scheme – last minute."

"I was wondering how Barbie managed to fuck up this bad."

A comfortable air surrounds us at our mutual dislike for Barbie, and I choose not to stir up any negative emotions about the Black Widow as Demi smiles at me appreciatively, "the night didn't turn out as bad as I thought it would, though."

I smile back; grateful that I myself found someone to spend time with at the event I'd been dreading for weeks. I wonder if she feels the same relief I do.

"We were together for 7 years until Barbie showed up. From our sophomore year at College, through grad school, all up until Barbie started working as a secretary for her dads firm. Then it all sort of fell apart. We were apart for a little over a week before they started seeing each other."

I expect a few shed tears at the revelation, but her eyes remain dry as she looks over the dark black lake reflecting the starry sky. She sighs deeply, and I put my hand over hers as consolation. She smiles softly.

"You'd think one of them were pregnant with the shotgun wedding."

A bark of a laugh tears through the air as she processes the clearly unexpected words.

"I expected a sorry, to be honest. I'm sick of people telling me they're sorry when they're really not."

I rub my thumb against hers, "for what it's worth, I really am sorry that she didn't realize what she had in front of her the whole time."

She laughs, "thanks."

"As much as it hurt, after all our time together, I just want to move on from pining after her like a lost puppy. I want to move on from being the pathetic girl who couldn't see that she was unhappy with me."

I can't think of anything to say, and I'm glad that the silence is broken after a few moments with her humming quietly to the song playing softly below us.

I clear my throat, "do you want to go dance?"

She raises her eyebrows, and then nods, leaving the bottle of alcohol on the grass beside her before pulling me up against her with a playful smile tugging at her lips.

I don't seem to mind the heat as much when it comes from being pressed against her body tightly as we walk down the hill, our heels resting daintily in our free hands.

xxx

Demi's arm shakes in mine as I press us together a little tighter, feeling her sigh in relief. Her weary motions are caused less by the alcohol and more by the significant number of looks she receives as we walk towards the dance floor, dropping our things off at my table first.

She stiffens as she notices the brides dancing on the far end of the floor, their concentration focused solely on each other. In an effort to catch her attention I pull her away with a quiet, "hey."

I'm met with a small amount of resistance before I turn her head to face mine and kiss her quickly.

Her lips burn against mine, coated with a hot layer of alcohol and the faint taste of her lip-gloss brushing against my tongue. Before I can break away she pulls me in closer, her hands hooked behind my neck with mine resting low on her waist. I can feel eyes on us as our kiss crosses from a peck to something more than just a distractive device.

We're broken apart by a giggle escaping Demi's mouth, bubbling delightfully like the flow of champagne being carried by waiters around us.

The violins sound prettier than before as we dance together, and I wonder if it's because I don't feel all that lonely when I'm in someone's arms. And maybe that's why they chose to have violins play at the wedding, because it's romantic and comforting, all wrapped into one.

As the shy ribbons of sound from the violins seem to be coming to a nostalgic end, I notice that the brides are no longer on the floor, or at the venue at all. We missed their exit.

I notice that we are the last ones on the dance floor, and the last few at the venue at all. I wonder how everyone managed to leave without us realizing, at all.

I find myself feeling at a loss as the last sad notes reach my ears, buried under a curtain of black hair, and we stop swaying.

At an event we were both so clearly dreading, we were the last to remain, and I feel inexplicably sad that the night was coming to an end, that our rendezvous was over before it ever started.

She pulls away, only just realizing what I had a few moments earlier; the audience had all gone home. The disappointment in my face must be evident because she gives me a small consoling smile.

I almost think she'll walk away like earlier, until she tugs my hand towards the exit, towards her car, and as it happens, towards her house.

It's only then that I realize the wilting sunflower that was left among the rest of the flowers, midway up the hill.


End file.
